


A Bureau Love Story

by thelarkascending



Category: Criminal Minds (US TV), White Collar (TV 2009)
Genre: All the violence and death is canon, And they're FBI agents, Canon Lesbian Character, Canon-Typical Violence, Crossover, F/F, Falling In Love, Gay, I mean it's a Criminal Minds fic so..., Lesbian Emily Prentiss, Marriage, Mostly it's about two lesbians in love, Parenthood, Pregnancy, Romance, Sex, There's definitely a fair amount of smut in here, but it's not all smut, it's very gay, relationships, wlw
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-08
Updated: 2021-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-14 03:40:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 28,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29289228
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelarkascending/pseuds/thelarkascending
Summary: A Criminal Minds/White Collar crossover following the love story of Emily Prentiss and Diana Barrigan.  It starts in season 7 of Criminal Minds, then goes through seasons 2-6 of White Collar, then back to Criminal Minds for seasons 12-15.  I’m taking a lot of liberties with both the timeline and Emily’s absence from the BAU, but other than that, I’ll be staying fairly close to canon.
Relationships: Emily Prentiss/Diana Barrigan
Comments: 8
Kudos: 18





	1. Chapter 1

Emily knew that coming back to the BAU would be hard, but she didn’t expect it to be this heartbreaking. Reid was furious; Morgan didn’t trust her; Rossi treated her like she was made of glass; even Garcia had a certain sadness in her eyes when she looked at her. Of course, they were all ecstatic to learn that she was alive, but there was a wall between her and her old friends that hadn’t been there since her early days with the team, and it would take time and effort to repair those relationships and rebuild that trust. She put on a happy face and played along with all the family talk over dinner at Rossi’s, but when she left at the end of the evening, she went home and cried herself to sleep alone in her silent apartment with only her cat to comfort her. Being dead was actually less lonely.

Ian Doyle still haunted her dreams. When she closed her eyes at night, she saw his piercing blue eyes, his menacing grin, his clover tattoo, his beard—god, she hated the way that beard felt against her skin. It was a constant reminder of just how _wrong_ everything was. In her dreams, she could still smell the dank warehouse, the sweat from the struggle, the blood that gushed out of her after he stabbed her with a sharp-edged piece of wood. She could feel the sharp pain and the bone-chilling cold and hear Derek’s frantic voice as he cradled her in his arms while she bled. She always woke up in a cold sweat.

After a restless night, she knew exactly what she needed. Luckily it was her day off, and she could spend it getting her frustration out at the shooting range. She emptied her clip into the target and sighed as she slumped forward against the counter.

“You’re good,” a voice said behind her, “I could be here all day, and I’d never get that kind of grouping.”

Emily turned around to see a fit, slender, stunningly beautiful Black woman in a dark green tank top, tight, flattering jeans, and high-heeled boots, with her hair pulled back in a neat ponytail. She blushed ever so slightly at the pretty woman’s compliment.

“Thanks, um, it’s really all about follow-through,” she said, “Of course, you want to move off the target to make sure you hit it, but that’ll get you every time. Follow-through, that’s how you make the shot.”

“So I’ve heard,” the other woman nodded. She plunged her thumbs into the pockets of her jeans, likely unaware of how that gave Emily butterflies in her stomach. “Well, my job involves more sleuthing than shooting, anyway. I mean, I don’t even remember the last time I pulled my gun…Hi, I’m Diana Barrigan,” she said, extending her hand. Emily wiped the gunshot residue off her hand before shaking Diana’s.

“Emily Prentiss,” she replied. She smiled warmly, and it was the most beautiful smile Diana had ever seen in her life. “So, what unit are you in that involves more sleuthing than shooting?”

“Art Crimes,” Diana said, returning Emily’s smile.

“Oh, with Agent Kramer,” Emily said, “I heard he was kind of a hard-ass.”

“He can be,” Diana shrugged, “But he’s a decent guy and a good agent; plus he was kind of a mentor to my old boss. What about you? What unit are you in?”

“Behavioral Analysis,” Emily replied, trying not to sound like she was bragging.

“No way, you’re a profiler?!” Diana exclaimed, “That’s really cool.”

Emily laughed softly and blushed. “Well, uh, I’m sure it’s not quite as glamorous as chasing after high-end art thieves, but yeah, it’s a pretty cool job.” She took a moment to look Diana over once again, and god, she was so beautiful. “Why haven’t I seen you around before?” she asked, cocking her head slightly, “I come here all the time, and I think I would have remembered you.”

Diana smiled and looked down at the ground. “Yeah, well, I just transferred here from New York a couple months ago,” she said, looking back up into Emily’s gorgeous brown doe eyes. She didn’t want to assume that Emily was flirting with her, but she was just so hot that Diana couldn’t help but feel a little flustered.

“Yeah, I recently came back to town, too,” Emily nodded, “From…well, it doesn’t really matter from where…” She felt her heart skip a beat when her eyes met Diana’s again, and it made her just bold enough to take a risk. “Hey, I was going to get a cup of coffee across the street,” she said, “Would you…maybe want to join me?”

“Yeah, sure,” Diana said, trying to hide her excitement.

The café across the street had lots of outdoor seating, and it was a lovely, warm, sunny afternoon. Emily and Diana grabbed a table in the shade and sipped their coffees. The two women, it turned out, had a lot in common, aside from their chosen profession: They both lived alone and spent more time at work than at home; they both liked to blow off steam by going for long bike rides around the monuments; they were both closet sci-fi nerds; they both enjoyed the finer things in life, but they were also both a little self-conscious about being seen as elitists just because they liked classical music and expensive French wine. When Emily began talking about her childhood, Diana quickly realized another thing they had in common.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, “Your mother is Elizabeth Prentiss.”

“Yeah—wait, is your father Walter Barrigan?” Emily asked.

“He is,” Diana nodded.

Their parents had worked together in Morocco back in the 80s. They hadn’t really interacted with each other a lot at the time—Emily _was_ nearly six years older than Diana, after all—but they did have some shared memories of various people and events from back then. And more importantly, they both understood the struggle of being a diplomat’s kid. They swapped stories of growing up in lots of different countries and suffering through fancy embassy parties in scratchy dresses and evading their parents’ security.

The whole time they talked, Diana was trying to get a read on Emily. Emily definitely seemed like she _could_ be gay, but that could also just be wishful thinking on Diana’s part. Diana seemed to remember hearing some rumors about Ambassador Prentiss’ daughter being a lesbian, but then, she also thought she might have heard a rumor about Ambassador Prentiss’ daughter being dead, so maybe she wouldn’t trust that particular rumor mill. She listened for clues in the things that Emily said, keeping a running tally of anything that might indicate one way or the other. Played softball in college: point gay. Never reads her horoscope, not even just for fun: point straight. Has a cat named Sergio that she treats like her child and takes a million pictures of: several points gay. They stayed at that café for well over an hour, long after they’d both finished their coffees. When Diana finally had to leave, she knew she’d never forgive herself if she just let Emily get away.

“Hey, so, listen,” she began nervously, “I still don’t know a whole lot of people here in D.C., and I’ve had a really great time talking to you today, and, um, I think you’re really pretty, so I’m going to go out on a limb here and—”

“Yes!” Emily interrupted with a wide grin and enthusiastic nod.

Diana chuckled softly. “Okay, just to be clear: I was about to ask you out on a date.”

“Yeah, I got that,” Emily said, still grinning and nodding, “I’d love to.”

“Good,” Diana replied, grabbing a pen from her purse and a napkin to write on, “Here’s my number. You should give me a call sometime.”

Emily felt like dancing when she got home. She picked up her cat and spun him around the living room, much to his displeasure. Her afternoon with Diana was the most fun she’d had since coming back to D.C. She and Diana had connected so easily and so well, it felt like they’d known each other for years, not hours. She’d have been happy enough to spend the afternoon chatting over coffee with a potential new friend, but then to be asked out by asked out by this unbelievably attractive woman who made her feel all warm and giddy? Emily was on cloud nine. There were nerves, too—she hadn’t been on a date in almost a year, and she had no idea how she was going to explain her past, if they ever got there. But she wasn’t about to let any of that stop her from dialing Diana’s number and making a date.

“Oh, don’t give me that look,” she said to Sergio as she tried on her fifth outfit for her date with Diana. On her bed was a pile of rejected garments, and on her dresser, an assortment of makeup and jewelry and hair products. She couldn’t help it; she just wanted to look absolutely perfect for Diana. She finally settled on a sleeveless red blouse and tailored black pants with a pretty silver necklace and her hair swept back in a black barrette. She had just finished getting ready and deemed her appearance satisfactory when there was a knock at her door. She opened the door to a sight that took her breath away: Diana in a bright blue, knee-length dress that perfectly showed off her athletic figure and great curves. She was speechless, but the look on her face was more than enough to convey her appreciation to Diana.

“Hi,” Diana said, “You look incredible.”

“So do you,” Emily managed to breathe out, “I mean, wow…”

“Thanks,” Diana said, smiling shyly and twirling a lock of hair around her finger. She knew she looked good, but seeing Emily react this way had her tingling with excitement.

“I just need to grab my wallet,” Emily said, “Come on in for a sec.”

Diana followed Emily into the apartment and looked around. It was a nice place—Emily definitely lived well. The furniture was sleek and modern, and the walls were decorated with black-and-white photographs, but the small piles of clutter, jackets draped over chairs, and reminders scrawled on post-it notes gave it a lived-in feel. A couple of neglected houseplants dying on the windowsill suggested a busy, preoccupied resident who often spent time away. It was all very… _Emily._ A blur of black fluff darted across the living room, taking Diana by surprise.

“I’m guessing that’s Sergio,” she remarked.

“Yeah,” Emily said, tucking her wallet and keys into her purse and slinging it over her shoulder, “That’s my boy. Shall we?” She motioned to the door.

Diana nodded. “Let’s go.”

“Bye, Serg!” Emily called out as she closed and locked the door behind her. Diana smiled; of course Emily was the kind of lesbian who couldn’t leave the house without saying goodbye to her cat.

It was the best date Emily had been on in a _long_ time: early dinner in Chinatown, followed by a show at Ford’s Theatre and drinks at a bar next to the National Mall. Diana was incredibly charming, and Emily was completely and hopelessly charmed. They talked about everything from D.C. restaurants to Russian literature to the possibility of extraterrestrial life, and as they took their seats in the theater, Emily realized they hadn’t talked about work _at all._ It was a welcome change of pace, and she liked it. She reached across the armrest to take Diana’s hand in hers, and kept it there for the entire first act.

Diana hadn’t been planning to do anything after the play ended—she had to work the next morning, and she’d never really been a sex-on-the-first-date girl—but then Emily had smiled so sweetly when she suggested getting drinks, and how could she say no to those irresistible dimples? She told herself she had time for one quick drink—especially if it meant spending more time with a woman as sweet and charming and strikingly beautiful as Emily, a woman she almost couldn’t believe was actually attracted to her. Emily had the most gorgeous, mesmerizing, expressive brown eyes, and when Diana looked into them, all thoughts of work immediately vanished from her mind. She was completely consumed with Emily—her smile, her laugh, her long legs, her lilting voice, her glossy black hair, and those exquisite eyes.

“Oh, shit, it’s a lot later than I thought,” Diana said when she finally noticed the clock on the wall, “I have an important meeting first thing tomorrow, and I think I’d really better call it a night.”

“Oh, yeah, of course,” Emily replied. She really didn’t want this night to end, but she couldn’t fault Diana for thinking about the job. “Maybe we could do this again sometime?”

“Definitely,” Diana said with a soft smile, “And soon.” She paused and looked into Emily’s beautiful brown eyes again. Oh, she could get lost in those eyes. “I had a really nice time with you tonight, Emily,” she said, “And, um, I’m going to kiss you goodnight now, if that’s okay with you.”

Emily smiled and nodded as she leaned in close to Diana. The kiss was sweet and tender and over too quickly. The feeling of the kiss lingered on Emily’s lips and kept her warm as she made her way home in the cool night air. She skipped up the steps to her apartment like she was walking on air and fell back onto her bed with a contented sigh.

“Tell me it’s way too early to be in love, Serg,” she said, rolling over and scratching the little feline behind his ears.

That night, Emily didn’t dream about Ian Doyle.


	2. Chapter 2

“Well you’ve got a spring in your step today, don’t you?” Penelope teased.

Emily rolled her eyes. “I guess, maybe…”

“Oh my goodness, Emily Prentiss!” Penelope exclaimed, “Is there a special lady in your life?”

“Well, we’ve only been out a few times,” Emily said with a sheepish smile, “But yeah, I’d say she definitely seems pretty special.”

Penelope squealed loudly enough for the whole bullpen to hear, and Emily looked around in shock.

“What’s going on here?” JJ asked as she walked over to them.

“Emily has a new girlfriend, and we’re going to learn all about her over lunch!” Penelope said, taking JJ by the hand and starting off for the elevators.

“Oh, hell yeah, I’m in,” JJ said.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Emily insisted as she followed the blondes out of the bullpen, “We’ve only been on four dates!”

“Okay, lady, spill,” Penelope said once they were seated at a table with their lunches, “What’s her name? How’d you meet? Where did you go on your first date? Tell us _everything!_ ”

“Her name is Diana,” Emily began, “We met at the shooting range—she’s an agent, too, in the Art Crimes unit. And for our first date, we saw a play at Ford’s Theatre. It was nice.”

“What’s she like?” JJ asked.

“Amazing,” Emily sighed, resting her cheek in her hand, “She’s smart and cultured and funny and thoughtful and _so_ gorgeous. She always looks so stylish, and she smells like jasmine, and she has the cutest laugh…”

“Wow, you’ve really got it bad for this girl,” JJ said.

“Yeah, I do,” Emily admitted, “I’m seeing her again tonight, and—”

“Ooh, no you’re not,” Penelope said apologetically, looking down at her phone, “You are going to Idaho.”

Emily groaned and slumped back in her seat as she pulled out her phone to cancel her date with Diana. Maybe this was why she hadn’t had a serious girlfriend in almost three years, she thought to herself.

“Does anyone remember this picture?” Penelope asked the team once they were all assembled in the conference room.

“Hotch and I were there,” Rossi replied, “That’s Principal Doug Givens. We had to drag him to safety.”

“High school bombing in Boise, right?” Emily said.

“School shooter _and_ school bomber,” JJ said, “A kid named Randy Slade shot three students and then set off an IED in the cafeteria via cell phone, killing himself and thirteen kids total, but not before posting all of his plans online. It was one of those ‘Where were you?’ events. My whole campus was glued to the TV.”

“Last night, Principal Givens was killed by a bomb modeled exactly like the old one,” Penelope said.

“It feels like the unsub wants to attack the man who kept the school together after the bombing,” Morgan said, “It’s a pretty symbolic target.”

“And this week is the 10th anniversary of the massacre,” Hotch added.

“And today is the first day of a 4-day event to commemorate the bombing at the school,” Penelope finished.

“Except commemorating it isn’t enough for this unsub,” Emily mused.

“No, he wants to relive it,” Hotch said, “Wheels up in thirty.”

On the plane, Emily smiled to herself as she looked down at her phone and read her most recent text from Diana.

“Damn, Prentiss, who’s got you grinning?” Morgan asked.

“A giiirl!” JJ teased.

Emily opened her mouth and widened her eyes in mock indignation. Mercifully, Hotch came over at that moment to talk about the case, putting a swift end to any more teasing and prying…for now.

They landed in Boise and met with the police chief, who remembered Hotch and Rossi from the bombing 10 years ago. Spencer and JJ walked the crime scene while Emily, Morgan, Hotch, and Rossi visited the Slade house, where a throng of reporters had already gathered. Martha Slade was less than happy to see the FBI on her doorstep again, but when she recognized Hotch, she let them in and allowed Rossi to interview her younger son, Brandon. After he interviewed the now-17-year-old and learned that Randy Slade had had a list of targets at the school, Hotch convinced Martha to let Emily and Derek search his room.

“Yeah, bookshelf is clean,” Emily said, “I love dating readers; hate profiling them.”

“Oh, yeah?” Derek said, “This new girl of yours—is she a reader?”

Emily rolled her eyes and scoffed. Diana happened to be a voracious reader, but Morgan didn’t need to know that.

“Come on, Prentiss, at least tell me her name,” he pleaded.

“Diana Barrigan,” Emily said, not looking up from the bookshelf.

“Wait, Barrigan in Art Crimes? She’s hot!” Derek said.

Emily turned around in surprise. “You know her?!”

“We’ve met,” he nodded, “And now I know why I couldn’t get her number.”

Emily laughed. “Yeah, Derek, you are _so_ not her type.” She turned back to the stack of books and opened one, and a folded piece of paper fell out. “Hey, come look at this,” she said, unfolding the paper.

“It’s Slade’s list,” Derek said.

“Hotch!” she called, “We found it. Principal Givens is on this list.”

With Slade’s list in hand and JJ alerting them another victim had been found, they were ready to give their new profile of their unsub. Emily led the remaining survivors through cognitive interviews—It was grueling work; those poor kids were traumatized, and she had to ask them to go back 10 years later and relive the worst day of their lives. Most of them were reluctant. When she was done, she felt drained, and she needed something to make her smile. She pulled out her phone to text Diana: _Tough case. Talk to me about something nice?_ Diana immediately sent back a picture with an accompanying text: _I saw an old man in a sweater vest walking his cat on a leash outside the Metro this morning._ Emily giggled at the picture and immediately started to feel better. Diana had that effect on her. She looked up from her phone to see Spencer standing in front of her.

“Was that your new girlfriend?” he asked.

Emily rolled her eyes. “Come on, not you, too?”

“I’m not going to pry. I’m just glad you have someone,” he said, “Hotch needs you back; we found Slade’s partner: a guy named Lewis Stuart Ramsey.”

Ramsey wasn’t the unsub, and later that evening, the actual unsub, Bob Adams, detonated an explosive device in a restaurant where several of the other survivors were eating dinner, and took them hostage. Hotch and Emily went into the restaurant to talk him down. Emily holstered her weapon, while Hotch kept his pointed at Bob. Emily pleaded with him, reasoned with him, appealed to his ego. He released his hostage and made a run for the kitchen; Hotch and Emily chased after him. Hotch found him in the boiler room and took him down. The team could wrap up their case and head home.

Emily was very glad to be back in D.C., back with Diana, back on their rescheduled date. She was having a lot of fun, and who knew Diana was so good at bowling? She didn’t even care that Diana was _thoroughly_ kicking her ass; her usual competitive streak was nothing compared to the warm, tingly, almost tipsy feeling she got from seeing Diana enjoy herself so much.

Outside the bowling alley, Emily pulled Diana into a warm embrace, caressing her cheek and gazing deep into her eyes. She was nowhere near ready to let go of this feeling; in fact, she wanted more.

“You know, my apartment’s not too far from here,” she said, “Would you want to come back for a nightcap?”

Diana grinned as she felt her spine tingle with excitement. “Sure, I’d like that,” she said before tilting her chin up to give Emily a quick but passionate kiss.

Emily never did get to serve Diana that nightcap because as soon as the apartment door closed behind them, Diana’s lips were on hers, kissing her deeply and passionately. She wrapped her arms around Diana’s back and pulled her in close as her tongue slid effortlessly into Diana’s mouth. Diana snaked a hand around the back of Emily’s head and sighed softly at the intoxicating sensation of the older woman’s lips on hers. She could feel the tension start to build between her legs as she moved her mouth down to Emily’s graceful neck, pressing hot, passionate kisses into the smooth, pale skin. She felt Emily’s hands unbuckle her belt and push her jacket off her shoulders as they both kicked off their shoes and socks. She tugged at the hem of Emily’s blouse, freeing it from the waistband of her jeans, and she was about to start working on the buttons when she felt Emily tense up.

“Wait,” Emily whispered.

“I’m sorry,” Diana said, “We don’t have to—I shouldn’t have assumed.”

“Oh, no, it’s not—I want to,” Emily assured her. She took a deep breath. “I have a scar,” she continued nervously, “I sort of…almost died last year, and…Anyway, it’s a pretty big scar and I just—I haven’t shown anyone…”

“You can show me,” Diana said earnestly, “But you don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“No, it’s okay,” Emily said as she began unbuttoning her blouse, “I trust you. I just…thought you should know.”

Diana cupped Emily’s face in both hands and kissed her tenderly. “Thank you for trusting me,” she whispered before pushing the blouse off her shoulders.

The jagged scar across Emily’s abdomen started at the tip of her sternum and traveled under her breast around to her side, stopping just millimeters away from the Vonnegut quote tattooed on the side of her ribcage. She didn’t even like to stand around in just her bra like this when she was all alone, and now, showing herself to a beautiful woman for the first time, she felt nervous and exposed. But when she saw the way Diana admired her, her nerves began to melt away.

“You’re beautiful, Emily,” Diana said, “Every inch of you is beautiful.”

Emily’s heart swelled. She surged forward and threw her arms around Diana, crashing their lips together in a bruising kiss. They shed the rest of their clothes on the way to Emily’s bedroom, where Emily promptly pushed Diana down onto the mattress and climbed on top of her. They savored the feeling of their bodies moving against each other, skin against skin, as their tongues sparred with each other furiously. Diana thanked her lucky stars her mouth was occupied, because otherwise, she might not have been able to stop herself from blurting out, “I love you.” Emily’s touch was electrifying. The feeling of her lithe, perfect body pressing her down into the mattress made Diana feel drunk with pleasure. Emily pulled back from the kiss and panted, and fuck, she was so turned on. She ground her thigh between Diana’s legs and lavished wet, sloppy kisses along her neck before moving down to her breasts, taking a pert nipple into her mouth and rolling it gently with her tongue. The delicious, heavenly whimper Diana let out ignited a fire in Emily’s belly that made her feel like she would die if she didn’t taste Diana _right now._ She kissed her way down Diana’s body and settled between her legs, spreading them open so she could drink in her fill.

Having sex with Diana was the first time that Emily had truly felt at home in her body since Ian Doyle came back into her life last year. The way Diana responded to her touch made her feel powerful, and the way she responded to Diana’s made her feel whole. She’d expected to spend the rest of her life hating the sight of the scar on her torso, but how could she possibly hate something that Diana’s perfect lips had kissed so tenderly and reverently? When Emily came, she came hard, and letting go like that felt like she was releasing all the pain that Doyle had inflicted over the years. Doyle couldn’t have her anymore; her body belonged only to herself and to Diana.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Emily is a useless lesbian.

They’d been seeing each other for almost six weeks, and if lesbian stereotypes were to be believed, they probably should have been talking about moving in together by now. Instead, Emily was still trying to work up the courage to ask Diana to be her girlfriend. Diana, for her part, desperately wanted Emily to be her girlfriend, but she also knew that she was the first woman Emily had dated since going through a pretty major trauma last year. And while she didn’t know all the details of what had happened, she got the feeling that she should let Emily move things along at her own pace.

Today was the day, Emily decided after some very nice sleepy morning sex. Today she would finally ask Diana to be her girlfriend. She thought she might use her morning shower to plan out how she would do it and what she would say, but then Diana slipped into the shower behind her, and she couldn’t think about anything except the hands caressing her breasts. She melted into Diana’s embrace and savored the feeling of soft lips on her neck. _Today,_ she reminded herself, _do it today. This goddess could be your girlfriend if you’d just cowboy up and ask her._

She’d do it over a nice dinner tonight, she decided as she stepped out of the shower and dragged her eyes appreciatively over Diana’s naked body. That would give her time to prepare, time to get the words right, time to make sure she didn’t fuck it all up. Satisfied with her plan, she got dressed and made herself a cup of coffee. She was feeling pretty good about today, until she saw the text from Hotch. She might have anticipated an unsub would foil her plans. Maybe there was time to do it _right now,_ before she had to leave.

She cleared her throat. “Diana…” she said nervously.

Diana looked up at Emily. “Yeah, what’s up?” she said. Her brow furrowed when she saw the nervous look in Emily’s eyes. She was picking at her nails, too, which Diana had learned by now was a surefire way to tell something was eating at her.

“Um…” Emily began. _Just say it, you idiot!_ she thought, _Just say, “Diana, I really like you, and I want you to be my girlfriend.”_ The words got stuck somewhere in her throat, and when she opened her mouth, nothing came out.

“Text from Hotch,” she finally blurted out, “We have a case; I-I have to go. I’m really sorry.”

“Oh,” Diana said, not entirely convinced, “Okay. Um, is that all?”

“Mmhmm,” Emily hummed, nodding her head just a little too hard, “I’ll see you later, sweetie, okay?” She stroked Diana’s cheek and kissed her goodbye. _Way to go, Prentiss,_ she thought to herself as she headed out the door, _chickened out again._

She was a coward, and she hated herself for it.

They were headed to St. Louis, where 9-year-old Bobby Smith had been abducted. He’d been missing 48 hours, and Spencer didn’t hesitate to point out the statistic about missing kids and the first 24 hours. On the jet, Emily looked over the case file intently, until she felt Morgan nudge her and point out Rossi on the phone, presumably with a woman. The fourth Mrs. Rossi, perhaps? She smiled at Morgan and looked back at Rossi as he hung up the phone and returned to his seat.

“What?” he asked the two younger agents.

“Nothing,” Morgan said, “Just somebody’s got a lot of extra pep in their step this morning, that’s all.”

“Probably doubled up on his vitamins,” Emily deadpanned.

“Oh, he doubled up on something,” Morgan teased.

Once in St. Louis, Emily and Rossi went to talk to Bobby Smith’s grandmother. In the SUV on the way, Emily’s phone buzzed, and she pulled it out to see a text from Diana. She froze for a second. She’d almost forgotten about chickening out this morning. It wasn’t that she _didn’t_ want to talk to Diana—she _always_ wanted to talk to Diana—it was just that she wasn’t sure what to say, except of course, “Diana, will you be my girlfriend?” but that’s hardly something one can ask over a text message. She knew if she thought about it too much, she’d start to dwell on it, and she couldn’t do that, not with a little boy missing. She put her phone back in her pocket without answering Diana.

Back at the police station, she and Rossi caught up with the rest of the team. Everyone they’d talked to had alibis that checked out, and Morgan observed that it was starting to look like a stranger abduction. Emily pointed out that the area Bobby was taken from had too much foot traffic for the unsub to take a child without anyone noticing, which led Hotch to theorize that Bobby must have trusted his abductor. It was progress, but not much, and they still had a missing boy to find.

Diana had been trying really hard not to dwell too much on whatever it was Emily _didn’t_ say to her before she left for St. Louis. She knew it could be anything, but all the possibilities that ran through her head were bad. She found ways to distract herself, but now the fact that Emily wasn’t answering her phone certainly wasn’t helping anything. Of course, she’d be pretty busy working a case and wouldn’t necessarily be able to drop what she was doing and pay attention to Diana, but it wasn’t like Emily to ignore calls and texts for so long. Either she _wasn’t_ answering, or she _couldn’t_ answer, and either way that was potentially very, very bad. She told herself not to catastrophize, but she wanted to be prepared for disappointment, if she had to be. The past six weeks had been so great, she thought; had Emily not felt the same way? Even in the days before, she’d seemed a little preoccupied, a little off, maybe. Diana hoped with all her heart she was worrying for nothing. She really, really liked Emily—more than that, actually; she was starting to fall in love.

“Barrigan!” Agent Kramer’s voice snapped her out of her thoughts.

“Yes, sir,” she said.

“Someone’s forged a Manet at an auction house in Maryland. I want you to look into it.” The forged Manet gave her something to focus on while Emily was away, and she threw herself into the case completely to distract from the dread she felt at Emily’s radio silence.

Little Bobby Smith was still missing at the end of the day when the team checked in to their hotel for the night. Emily realized she’d never answered Diana, and felt a pang of guilt when she pulled out her phone and saw a second text: _Hey, you know I worry when you’re on a case and don’t text me back. Everything ok?_ Of course Diana would pick up on Emily acting strange; of course she’d be concerned. Emily just hoped she wouldn’t be mad. She couldn’t help but wonder if she was royally screwing up the best thing she had going on in her life right now, and she felt like shit about it. She sighed and sent a text back: _Sorry! Busy day, but I’m fine. Didn’t mean to make you worry. Talk to you tomorrow._ At least it was something.

The next morning found Bobby Smith’s mother murdered and dumped in a parking lot, and another little boy abducted from a local park. Like Bobby, this little boy’s mother had some troubles of her own that made it hard for her to care for her child. At the station, the team delivered the profile, and told the squad to look for first responders or child service workers. The second little boy, Timothy Tanner, turned up in a bar that evening wearing pajamas and carrying a teddy bear, and Emily, JJ, and Rossi went to the Tanner house to reunite the boy with his father and see what information they could get from him. Later that night, Rossi and Emily worked the case from the police station, looking into 911 operators who answered the missing kids’ calls.

“A 911 operator would be why the kids trusted him,” Emily observed, “The unsub must have gone back to the house to do some sort of follow-up on his own, and they remembered his face.”

Rossi didn’t respond. He stared blankly ahead with his back to her. She remembered his phone conversation on the jet; he’d seemed a little preoccupied since then.

“Rossi?” she said, “Did you hear me?”

He turned around. “Oh, sorry.”

“Uh, Morgan and I were joking around on the jet, but something is definitely up,” she said, “Is there anything you want to share?”

“It’s nothing…I had breakfast with Caroline the other morning,” he said.

“Caroline…” she said, “Oh! Is that wife number four or five?”

“Look, let’s get our facts straight,” he retorted, “I’ve only had three wives. I mean, that’s…within the realm of reasonable.”

“Okay, I’m sorry,” she laughed, “Which one was Caroline?”

“Numero uno,” he replied.

“Mmmmm…” she hummed.

“Use your words, Emily,” he chided teasingly.

“There’s always something about the first,” she said, “In anything.”

“I don’t know…I might be way off here, but I think she’s putting some feelers out,” he said, “To see if that old spark is still there.”

Emily gasped. “Is it?”

“I’m having her over to my house for dinner when I get back,” he said, “I’m crazy, right?”

Emily recognized something in Rossi’s doubts, something she’d been feeling herself. Her teasing smile faded, and she looked at him earnestly.

“We don’t always get second chances in life, Rossi,” she said, “I say take the plunge; see where it goes.”

She felt like such a hypocrite. Here she was giving Rossi advice she couldn’t follow herself. She’d been given the mother of all second chances after Doyle, so why couldn’t she use it? Why couldn’t she take the plunge and tell Diana how she felt?

A call from Garcia stopped her dwelling on it. She’d found their unsub, the only one of the eleven 911 dispatchers on duty when both boys called who also fit the unsub’s profile. He’d left his post that night after responding to a 911 call from a teenage girl being sexually abused by her mother’s boyfriend. Garcia gave them the address of the call, and they left to go find him. They tracked down their unsub at a farmhouse outside the city where he’d been keeping the kids, and they managed to get everyone out safely—a resounding success, by BAU standards. It was late, and they all just wanted to head home. Emily made a quick call to Diana before boarding the jet with the rest of her team.

“Hey, Diana,” she said, “We closed the case, and we’re heading home now. Look, I know I’ve been a little hard to reach lately, and I’m sorry. I promise I haven’t been avoiding you or anything…” That was a lie.

“Oh, don’t worry about it; you were busy,” Diana said, “Um, do you want to come over when you land?” She usually did after finishing a tough case.

“No, I think I’m gonna head home. I’m pretty tired,” Emily replied.

“Oh, okay,” Diana said, trying not to sound disappointed.

“But, uh, maybe I could come over tomorrow, and we could talk for a bit, if you’re not too busy?” Emily said.

_“Talk for a bit.”_ Yikes. Emily regretted her words as soon as she said them. She knew that if Diana had said them, she’d be freaking out and imagining worst-case scenarios.

“Not, like, _‘we need to talk,’_ or anything like that,” she continued, desperately trying to salvage her earlier statement, “Just, you know, I haven’t seen you, and-and it would be nice to see you…tomorrow…if you’re not too busy…”

“I’m not too busy,” Diana laughed.

“Okay, good,” Emily said, “I’ll, uh, I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Tomorrow came, and Emily picked at her nails in the elevator as she rode up to Diana’s apartment. She told herself she wouldn’t chicken out this time. She wasn’t leaving this building until Diana Barrigan was her girlfriend. She had butterflies in her stomach when she saw Diana and greeted her with a tender kiss. She sprawled out on the couch and turned on the TV, but didn’t actually watch it. Diana could see that she was distracted, but Emily assured her that she was fine. It could very well be the case she’d just worked, Diana reminded herself, but after the last few days, she couldn’t help but feel nervous. Diana had made chicken marsala for dinner—Emily loved chicken marsala. As she took the chicken off the heat and tossed the salad, she looked over and saw that Emily had stopped setting the table halfway through, and was instead biting her nails.

“Are you sure everything’s okay, babe?” Diana asked, “You’ve just—you’ve seemed a little off lately…”

“Well, you’ve only known me for six weeks, so…” The words came out of Emily’s mouth before her brain could stop them, and she winced when she saw the hurt look in Diana’s eyes. “Sorry,” she mumbled.

“Look, Emily, if you want to end this, you can just tell me,” Diana said nervously, looking down and grinding her toe into the ground.

“What? No!” Emily exclaimed, “End it? God, no—just the opposite, actually…I’ve been a little off because-because I was trying to figure out how to ask you if you wanted to be my girlfriend.”

Diana smiled. “Well, you could’ve just said it like that,” she deadpanned.

Emily looked up at Diana’s sparkling eyes and playful smile, and she felt like kicking herself. Why did she always have to make these things so much harder than they needed to be? She’d let herself get all worked up over a simple question she was fairly certain Diana would say yes to, and from the look on Diana’s face, it seemed like she might have been ready to say yes for a while. They could have been girlfriends weeks ago if she didn’t always have to overthink everything. She took a breath and told herself that didn’t matter; they could always make up for lost time.

“Do you want to be my girlfriend?” she _finally_ asked.

Diana walked over and wrapped her arms around Emily’s neck. “Only if you’ll be mine.” She kissed Emily sweetly and tenderly.

“So…I guess we’re girlfriends now,” Emily said.

“Yeah,” Diana nodded, “We’re girlfriends.”

Emily wrapped her girlfriend up in a tight bear hug and nuzzled against her neck, breathing in the scent of her perfume. Diana melted into Emily’s arms with a satisfied sigh. _My girlfriend,_ they both thought simultaneously, _I can’t believe this amazing woman is my girlfriend; I must be the luckiest girl in the world._


	4. Chapter 4

“You sure you don’t mind looking after Sergio while I’m in Houston?” Emily asked Diana as she packed the last few items into her ready bag.

“Not at all,” her girlfriend said, “We’re gonna have a great time together, aren’t we, little guy?” She reached over and scratched under the cat’s chin, and he purred happily.

“Thank you,” Emily said, putting on her jacket and grabbing her keys and phone, “I’ll see you in a couple days.”

“Bye, love you, stay safe,” Diana said, the same send-off as every other time Emily’s team boarded the jet to work a case. She pulled her girlfriend in for a quick kiss.

“Love you, too,” Emily replied, taking an extra moment to press her forehead against Diana’s before turning and heading out the door.

Emily boarded an empty plane and looked around confused. She saw Hotch waiting for her at the back of the plane and headed over to him.

“Hey,” she said, “I’m sorry, I thought you said 10:30.”

“I did,” he replied, “For you. Have a seat. I received Dr. Merrell’s evaluation; I just wanted to review it with you.”

Emily took the seat across from him nervously as her eyes darted to the file in Hotch’s hand containing the report from her therapist.

“Here?” she asked.

“Well, I get tired of being profiled through my office window,” he said.

“Well, what is there to discuss?” she said, “She gave me a clean bill of health.”

“Patient shows no hesitation tackling difficult goals as part of reintegrating into her life,” he began reading from the file, “She has reached out to her mother—”

“I’m going to,” she interrupted.

“And has begun a romantic relationship with a _man_ …named Sergio?”

“What? It took me, like, two years to come out to you guys; do you really think I’m going to talk to some stranger about my girlfriend?”

“Prentiss, I don’t care if you lie to your therapist,” he said, “All I care about is how your behavior affects your job.”

“I don’t think it has,” she retorted.

“You’ve been over-compensating,” he said.

“How have I—”

“You rushed to repair your relationship with Morgan,” he continued, “You’ve become an emotional sounding board for Reid and Rossi.”

“That’s being a good friend.”

“You offered me parenting advice.”

“Okay, so maybe I have been working a little bit harder to regain people’s trust,” she admitted, “Is that such a bad thing?”

“No,” he said, “It only is if you use it to avoid dealing with what you went through.”

“But I’m not,” she insisted, “I chose to come back here. Why? Because I care about the people I work with? Yes. But also because it’s clean. I know who the good guys and the bad guys are; I don’t have to worry about screwing someone over to make a case.”

“Okay, I want you to make a deal with me,” he said, “You’re going to go weeks—months even—feeling fine…and then you’re going to have a bad day. Just let me know when you do.”

“And that’s it?” she said.

“That’s it.”

“Deal.”

“Sergio?” he asked with a smirk and a raised eyebrow.

“He truly is the only man for me,” she deadpanned.

In Houston, Emily and JJ interviewed victims of the serial rapist known as “The Piano Man”—survivors were often more comfortable sharing their stories with female agents, and these women had all been attacked not once, but twice; the Piano Man had started going back to his old victims and assaulting them again. At some point in every interview, each survivor asked to take a smoke break, and it didn’t take long for Emily and JJ to notice the pattern that all the women were smokers. That was how the Piano Man drugged his victims. They also each had a different piano ballad that triggered their anxiety, and the team theorized that the Piano Man played those songs during the rapes.

Morgan called to let the rest of the team know that one of the Piano Man’s victims had turned up dead—murdered with a piano wire. The medical examiner found a piece of a neoprene glove in her throat; she’d most likely bitten her attacker. It was a surgical glove, so Hotch asked Garcia to check hospital records. She found an orderly who worked shifts at three different hospitals, the same hospitals the victims went to after their attacks. He’d even accessed the insurance information of the victims after the first attacks.

One of the survivors came to the police station again. She’d been hesitant to talk to Emily and JJ at first, but once she’d heard about Vanessa Campbell’s murder, she decided she had to come back. She explained to Emily that during her second attack, she was drugged, but not to the point that she completely lost consciousness, and she remembered things from the attack that were different from the Piano Man’s signature: He didn’t tie her up; he didn’t play a piano ballad; he talked to her during the attack.

Meanwhile, Morgan, JJ, and Rossi went to the orderly’s house and found neoprene gloves in his van like the one found in Vanessa Campbell’s throat. They brought him back to the police station, where Emily questioned him. She did what she had to in order to get him to talk: flirted with him, appealed to his ego, played a role. She’d need a dozen showers to feel clean again, but that was just part of the job. It worked—not only did he confess to the rapes, he bragged that the women wanted it. He even repeated the same phrase he’d used to taunt his victims.

“Nobody believes a slut who cries wolf,” he said.

Emily smirked. “I’m gonna quote you on that.”

They had him, but Hotch told the team they needed to stick around and build the case. A search of his house turned up a music collection that didn’t fit with the Piano Man’s style. They’d theorized that the songs he chose had some significance to him; Spencer posited they were probably the songs he listened to in his early teens. The songs Herman Scobie listened to made sense for a man in his early 30s, but based on the Piano Man’s predilection for early 80s piano ballads, he was too young to be their unsub. They had _two_ serial rapists on their hands: the Piano Man, and an opportunistic orderly who took advantage of the case’s publicity to attack survivors unnoticed. The Piano Man had raped all the women the first time, and he’d murdered Vanessa Campbell, but he wasn’t the man they had in custody. The neoprene glove in Vanessa Campbell’s throat was simply an attempt to pin all the crimes on Scobie. Scobie had already lawyered up, but when Emily and Hotch explained that he could either cooperate with them or take the fall for the Piano Man, he talked. He gave up the name of the woman he’d planned to attack next: Regina Lampert, the Piano Man’s first victim, and the only one with any forensic evidence of his identity.

Little did they know Regina Lampert had already taken matters into her own hands, and had the real Piano Man bound with piano wire and bleeding in her living room. Surveillance video from the bar where she worked showed her setting herself up as bait for the musician at the piano that night, Hamilton Bartholomew, a man whose wife had recently reported him missing. A 911 call from Regina’s house contained a gunshot and Bartholomew’s voice pleading for help. They rushed to Regina’s house with sirens blaring, and on the way, Emily’s phone rang with the lab results comparing the fingerprint on Regina’s glasses to Hamilton Bartholomew. It was a match. They entered Regina’s house and found her holding a gun on her rapist.

“I got him!” she cried, “I caught him; this is the Piano Man.”

“No, I’m not!” he shouted, “This woman’s crazy!”

“Regina, look at me,” Emily said calmly, “Look at me. Drop the gun, okay?”

“Please don’t let her kill me,” Bartholomew pleaded.

“I have waited _five years_ for this,” Regina said.

“We ran the rape kit, Regina,” Emily said, “The fingerprint the police got off your glasses—do you remember? We compared it to Hamilton’s. It didn’t match.” That was a lie, of course, but how else could she get Regina to drop the gun? Usually Emily had no problem talking guns out of the hands of desperate people, but a part of her wished she could let Regina shoot the man who brutalized her and scarred her for life.

Regina looked at her in bewilderment. “That’s impossible…” she said, “That’s—that’s him. That’s him.

“If you pull that trigger, you’re going to kill an innocent man,” Emily lied, “Drop the gun.”

Regina complied, and let a SWAT officer take the gun from her hand. Emily holstered her own gun and stepped over to Regina, cuffing her as gently as one possibly _could_ put handcuffs on a would-be killer.

“I have to put these on you, do you understand?” she said, “This is for both of our safety.”

Regina looked so scared and confused, and the look of utter betrayal that spread across her face when Hotch arrested Hamilton Bartholomew for rape and murder absolutely broke Emily’s heart. She felt for Regina; she truly did, but this was the job, and this was justice, and you couldn’t just take the law into your own hands and keep hostages tied up in your living room with piano wire.

Back at the station, Emily learned her day wasn’t quite over yet. She walked into the interrogation room reluctantly and took a seat across the table from Regina.

“I was told that you would only give your statement to me,” she said.

“Why didn’t you let me pull the trigger?” Regina asked.

“Because you would be in prison,” Emily replied calmly.

“As opposed to where I am right now?” Regina retorted, “I mean, while he gets a lawyer and a fair trial?”

“He will never see the light of day. Ever,” Emily assured her.

“Can you guarantee that?” Regina asked. Emily knew damn well she couldn’t. “You know, when they talk about victims getting revictimized by the system, they mean you.”

“I know it’s hard…” Emily began.

“No, you don’t!” Regina said, “You have no idea what it’s like when the monster from your nightmares comes back for you.”

Emily shuddered and looked away quickly, tucking a lock of hair back and doing her best to keep her composure. She _did_ know. Oh, god, did she know…

“Wait…” Regina said.

“Look, I’m here as a courtesy…” Emily said.

“Something happened to you,” Regina continued.

“So, do you want to give me your statement or not?” Emily said curtly.

“What did you do to him?” Regina asked, “Did you arrest him like a good FBI agent? Or did you kill him?”

Emily could feel her muscles clenching and her blood boiling, but she stayed stone-faced as she held Regina’s gaze. “I didn’t pull the trigger,” she finally said.

“Still, your monster’s dead; I have to live with mine.” She tapped the pad of paper in front of Emily. “That’s my statement.”

After Emily finished with Regina she practically ran to the ladies’ room. She collapsed against the door and sank down onto the cold tile floor, and she sobbed. Maybe she wasn’t as fine as she thought she was.

When Hotch boarded the plane, he found Emily waiting for him. She looked up at him with tears in her eyes.

“I’m having a bad day,” she said meekly.

He sat down across from her and leaned forward, looking into her eyes. “We can talk about it, if you want.”

She looked away and sniffed. “Regina Lampert…” she began, still looking away, “She said some things…about the monster from her nightmares…”

“I know,” he said.

“She’s right,” she continued, looking back at him, “My monster’s dead. But that still doesn’t fix it.”

“No,” he said, “It doesn’t. But having someone to lean on on your bad days—that can fix a lot.”

She smiled softly. “Thanks, Hotch.”

He still worried about her—they _all_ worried about her, of course, but he knew more intimately what she’d gone through, what she was feeling, what she’d lost. He knew because he’d been there himself, because the monster from _his_ nightmares had murdered the woman he loved. He also knew that he wasn’t the person Emily needed to lean on right now. She had someone in her life now, and while she didn’t share quite as many details of her personal life as the other young agents on his team did, she’d shared enough to make him feel certain she’d be well taken care of. He looked at her again with a gentle, understanding nod. She’d shared all she needed to share right now, and he wasn’t going to push her.

“Come on,” he said when they got back to Quantico, “I’m driving; you tell me where to go.”

Emily didn’t protest; she just nodded and followed Hotch to his car. She gave him directions to Diana’s apartment building, and in between, they rode in comfortable silence.

“Thanks again,” she murmured as she left the car. She hoisted her ready bag up onto her shoulder and went up to the 8th floor. She felt the sting of tears behind her eyes as she knocked on the door of Diana’s apartment. Diana opened the door with a glowing smile when she saw her girlfriend.

“Hey, baby,” she said, “I didn’t know you were…” her voice trailed off when she saw the expression on Emily’s face and the quiver in her lower lip. “Em? Honey, what’s wrong?”

“I’m having a bad day.”


	5. Chapter 5

She ended up telling Diana everything: about Doyle, about Declan, about faking her own death. About the Piano Man case and Regina Lampert and knowing _exactly_ what it’s like when the monster from your nightmares comes back for you. Once she started talking, she didn’t hold back. She talked about wanting to die every time he crawled into bed with her and she had to play along, about actually dying in the ambulance and feeling nothing but a cold, dark void, about the months she spent being “dead” and longing to feel alive again, about coming back to her old life and feeling like nothing fit…until Diana. She said things to Diana that she’d never said to anybody, not even herself.

Diana listened patiently. It was a lot to take in all at once. She tried to reconcile Lauren Reynolds with the Emily she knew and loved. Emily had done some pretty bad things, but she did them for the right reasons—to protect the people she loved, to stop a dangerous terrorist, to give a little boy a chance in life. Emily was a protector; that’s just who she was. It broke Diana’s heart to know that Emily had gone through so much pain and loss and grief and trauma; that she’d been put in a situation where men used her body to take down other men; that she’d ever felt so scared and desperate and alone that she’d run away from the people who loved her most. She would have given anything to be able to take away all the pain Emily had endured in the past, but instead she’d settle for making sure her future was full of love.

Emily finished her story and looked up into the soft, kind eyes of the woman she loved with all her heart, the woman she prayed could still love her back, the woman she knew deserved so much better…

“Do you hate me?” she asked.

“Hate you?” Diana said, “Oh, Emily, no, how could I ever hate you?”

Emily looked down at the ground and started to cry again. “After everything I’ve told you, everything I’ve done…How could you not?”

Diana cupped Emily’s face in both hands and looked deep into her eyes. “I love you, baby. No matter what,” she said, “I need you to know that.”

Emily nodded. “I love you, too.”

“You don’t ever have to hide anything from me. Ever,” Diana said, “Because no matter what you tell me, it’s not going to change the way I feel about you. I love you, Emily Prentiss. All of you. So let’s not have any more secrets, okay?”

“Okay,” Emily said with a soft half-smile, “In the interest of full disclosure: I also had an abortion when I was fifteen.”

Diana nodded. “And in the interest of full disclosure: When _I_ was fifteen, my bodyguard Charlie was shot and killed in front of me, and I watched him die. I blamed myself for years, and I still have nightmares about it sometimes. We were really close.”

“I’m really sorry that happened to you,” Emily said, gently running her hand down Diana’s arm.

“I’m sorry for everything that’s happened to you,” Diana replied, “Nobody should ever have to go through what you’ve gone through.”

Emily felt the tears start to well up again. She collapsed against Diana’s shoulder and sobbed. She cried harder than she had in years. She cried for Declan and Louise and Chloe and Tsia and Jeremy and Sean. She cried for Regina Lampert and for the Piano Man’s other victims, and for all the brutalized women over the course of her career that she hadn’t been able to save. She cried for Matthew and the life he might have had if she and Johnny had just used a fucking condom. She cried for herself. She cried tears of sorrow and anger and pain. She cried tears of relief. She cried at the overwhelming feeling of _finally_ being truly seen and known and loved for who she really was, in spite of all her flaws and all the dark and questionable things she’d done in her life. She cried and cried until she had no more tears, and then she let herself go limp, falling with her head in Diana’s lap and staring straight ahead as she felt gentle fingers stroke her hair.

“Let’s get you to bed,” Diana said. She guided Emily into the bedroom and helped her out of her work clothes and into a set of soft flannel pajamas. She stayed with Emily in the bathroom as she brushed her teeth and took off her makeup, her hands gently caressing Emily’s sides to let her know she wasn’t alone. She pulled back the covers and took her place in the bed next to Emily, wrapping her arms around her and holding her close to her heart. Emily was exhausted, and sleep came quickly once she was nestled in Diana’s arms.

In her dream, Regina Lampert held a gun on Ian Doyle. When Emily convinced her to put the gun down—telling her this wasn’t her monster, lying through her teeth that he was an innocent man—he broke his restraints and surged forward, knocking Emily to the ground and stabbing her again with that sharp-edged piece of wood. She woke up screaming and shaking and sweating.

“It’s okay,” Diana said, cradling Emily in her arms and stroking her hair, “Emily, baby, it’s okay. I’ve got you. You’re safe. It was only a dream.”

“It was only a dream,” Emily repeated in a desperate whisper, clutching Diana tightly and holding on for dear life.

“It was only a dream,” Diana assured her. She placed a gentle, tender kiss on Emily’s lips, and Emily responded with a deeper, more passionate kiss of her own. She pushed Diana down onto the mattress and straddled her. Her tongue parted Diana’s lips and slid into her mouth, while her hand reached up under Diana’s shirt and palmed a soft, perfect breast.

“You need your sleep, Em,” Diana whispered.

“I need to feel good,” Emily pleaded, “Please, baby, I need this right now.”

“Okay,” Diana nodded.

Emily crashed her lips back into Diana’s in a bruising kiss and felt a hand wrap firmly around the back of her neck. There was nothing soft or tender about this sex; they ground against each other furiously while fingers moved desperately and purposefully between each other’s legs. Emily sank her teeth into Diana’s collarbone, below the neckline of her work shirts. She knew she’d leave a mark, but she didn’t care. Diana let her do it because she knew how much Emily needed this right now, and honestly, she kind of liked the way the pain felt. The high-pitched whine she let out sent an electric jolt between Emily’s thighs. They came within seconds of each other, panting and moaning and writhing in a desperate tangle of limbs.

Emily fell asleep again, nestled close against Diana’s back. Diana stayed awake until she could tell from Emily’s breathing that she was sound asleep, and she let herself cry silent tears. The past several hours had been hard on her, too, but she’d wanted—needed—to be strong for Emily. She released her sorrows into the pillow before drifting off to sleep.

Diana let Emily sleep in the next morning. She slipped out of bed quietly to pee and feed the cat, then climbed back in and snuggled up next to her girlfriend, who didn’t wake up. She needed her rest, and she looked more peaceful and serene than Diana had ever seen her. Diana lay awake and watched Emily sleep, marveling at her strength, her courage, her enormous heart. She smiled as she watched Emily’s beautiful brown eyes flutter open and wondered what she’d done to merit sharing her bed with a goddess like this. Emily’s eyes focused on Diana looking at her so adoringly, and a grin crept across her face.

“Good morning,” she said, snaking a hand around Diana’s neck and pressing their foreheads together.

“Good morning,” Diana replied, dragging her fingernails softly down Emily’s back and nuzzling against her cheek.

Emily kissed Diana slowly and lazily, like they had all the time in the world. She nuzzled against her girlfriend’s neck and kissed her way down, soothing the mark on Diana’s collarbone with her lips. Then Diana was on top of Emily, swirling her tongue over a sensitive spot on the older woman’s neck and teasing a nipple with her fingers. Emily hummed contentedly and tilted her head back. Her hands caressed Diana’s back and her sides before reaching down to cup her ass. Diana nipped gently at Emily’s earlobe with a whispered “I love you.” She slid down and placed a loving kiss against the scar on Emily’s abdomen before settling between her thighs.

“Oh, Diana…” Emily sighed as the swipe of the younger woman’s tongue between her legs sent waves of pleasure through her body. _Fuck,_ Diana was so amazingly good at this. This time was nothing like the sex they had last night; it was soft and slow and gentle and intimate. They took the time to worship each other’s bodies and savor every sigh and every moan. Emily came twice and Diana once before they moved their lovemaking into the shower, where Emily evened the score with one hand between Diana’s legs and the other on her breast while Diana rested her head back on Emily’s shoulder and let out an intoxicating moan.

When Diana finished dressing and emerged from the bedroom, she found Emily standing in her kitchen, holding a frying pan and staring at the refrigerator with a puzzled expression.

“Everything alright, Em?” she laughed.

Emily whipped around at the sound of Diana’s voice. “I wanted to make you a really special breakfast to thank you,” she said, still holding the frying pan, “But you don’t have any food in your apartment, and also I just remembered I’m not a very good cook.” She looked at Diana apologetically.

“Thank me?” Diana said, “For what?”

“For loving me,” Emily said so earnestly it made Diana’s heart melt. Her expression changed suddenly to childlike excitement. “Oh, hey, maybe I could take you to Eastern Market and buy you pancakes instead!”

Diana smiled; she’d never heard anything so sweet come from someone so tough. She walked over to Emily and gently took the frying pan from her hand and put it down on the counter before wrapping her arms around her girlfriend’s waist and kissing her tenderly. Loving Emily was the best thing she’d ever done, and she was grateful every day that she got to do it. No thanks were ever necessary, but if Emily _wanted_ to buy her pancakes from Eastern Market…


	6. Chapter 6

Emily, Morgan, and JJ arrived at Hilary Ross’ house in the hopes of getting her out safely before their unsub, Trevor Mills, could get to her. They were too late; he was already inside. This just became a rescue mission.

“Alright, you two go around back,” Morgan said to Emily and JJ, “I’ll draw his fire while you flank him.”

“You sure you want to split up?” Emily asked him.

“We’ve got to cover the back and the front in case he runs,” Morgan said, “Let’s go.”

Inside the house, Mills was struggling with Hilary, gun in hand. Emily and JJ came in through the back door, guns drawn, Emily a step ahead as she announced herself.

“FBI!”

A shot rang out, and Emily cried out as the bullet struck her bicep and she fell to the ground. She felt a sharp pain and blood oozing out of her, and she covered the wound with her right hand to stop the bleeding.

“You’re hit,” JJ said.

“I’m good,” Emily assured her, “Go! Go!”

“He’s upstairs,” JJ said to Morgan as he burst in through the front door.

Morgan’s eyes shot to the silhouette of Emily on the ground, and he felt his stomach turn over. Memories of Emily lying injured in that warehouse came rushing back. He pushed those thoughts aside and fixed his eyes back on JJ. As much as he wanted to, he couldn’t worry about Emily right now, and he knew that.

More shots rang out, followed by a woman’s screams as JJ and Morgan made their way upstairs. Trevor Mills had a gun to Hilary Ross’ head, and she kept screaming.

“Trevor Mills, FBI!” Morgan shouted, “Drop the weapon! It’s over!”

“Get away from me!” Mills screamed.

“Trevor, you don’t want to do this,” Derek said calmly, “Let me help you, or you’re gonna die.”

“You? Help me? Yeah, right!” Mills yelled back.

“I know about Preston,” Derek continued, “I know that he put you up to all of this.”

“You damn half-breed! You don’t know anything!” Mills shouted.

“Trevor, we pulled your phone records,” Derek said, “You called Preston 13 times today.”

“So what?” Mills retorted.

“We pulled his voicemail messages, too,” Derek said, “He’s using you, kid! That’s why he won’t call you back.”

“Get out of here, or I’ll kill this bitch!” Mills shouted, pressing the muzzle of the gun into Hilary’s neck.

“Listen to me!” Derek urged, “Just listen. When those men broke into your house, you know who ended up buying it? It was your man, Preston, and he got it for nothing.”

“You’re a liar!” Mills yelled, “All you people do is lie!”

“The men convicted of killing your family,” Derek shouted back, “They both said somebody paid them off to do that job; they just couldn’t prove it, so now they’re doing life.”

“Yeah, well they should’ve gotten the chair!” Mills replied.

“Come on, Trevor, wake up!” Derek urged, “Preston set that up. Crime waves hit; property value drops. Then Preston moves in and buys it all up for cheap.”

“Shut up!” Mills cried.

“Trevor, listen to me,” Derek said, “He doesn’t give a damn about black or white—the only color that son of a bitch cares about is green! Come on, kid, you gotta believe me! Drop the gun. You let her go, and we can work it out.”

“He told me you would try to turn me,” Mills said, “There are no traitors!” He lunged at Morgan, who fired his weapon, hitting Mills squarely and striking him down.

While Hotch and Rossi went to arrest Preston, Derek accompanied Emily to the hospital. He watched the doctors patch her up and watched her roll her eyes at instructions to take it easy. He was consumed with guilt. If he hadn’t told them to go around back…If he hadn’t insisted on splitting up…If, if, if…It was all he could think about as they closed the case and boarded the jet to head home.

Derek saw Emily staring out the plane window, her injured arm nestled in a sling. The bullet had only grazed her, and she’d make a full recovery. After losing her once already, he never would have forgiven himself if anything worse had happened to her. Derek didn’t really believe in God anymore, but he was forever grateful that _someone_ up there seemed to be looking out for Emily. That bullet could have killed her just as easily, and she would have died because of _his_ decision. Instead, she’d cheated death once again; the woman was a cat with nine lives.

“How are you doing?” he asked, taking a seat across from her and placing a mug of hot tea in front of her.

“I’m alright,” she replied.

“Emily, I’m so sorry,” he said.

“Out there, in the field, sorry doesn’t bring people back,” she mocked, repeating the words he’d said to a young cadet on the training course just days earlier.

He knew she was trying to keep things lighthearted, but he wasn’t in a joking mood. He’d gotten her shot, and he felt terrible about it. He shook his head and sighed.

“Oh, come on, I’m messing with you,” she said, “It’s nothing, really. I’m okay. This isn’t your fault.”

“Actually, it is,” he replied.

“You’re a team leader. You made a tactical decision,” she said.

“And you got hurt,” he said, “Again.”

So that’s what this was about. Emily tilted her head and looked at him gently. He was there the last time she got hurt. He held her. He watched the color drain from her face and the light fade from her eyes. Of course it would be hard for him to see her get hurt again. Of course he would be extra worried. Of course she’d need to assure him that _she really was just fine._

“You did what you thought was right,” she said, “And that’s all you can do. The rest of it—that’s not up to us. That’s the job.”

He nodded. She was right, of course, but it didn’t make him feel any better.

“This is nothing, really,” she insisted.

He sat back in his chair. It wasn’t nothing, but he couldn’t change the past, and Emily was a tough girl; she’d bounce back.

A teasing smirk started to creep across Emily’s face. “I mean, that thing with Doyle, that…” She gasped and smiled when she saw the look on Morgan’s face. “I’m kidding!” she laughed, “Although, if you really do feel the need to make it up to me, you could always take the heat for this with Diana. She will _not_ be pleased.”

He chuckled softly. “Deal.”

The flight back to Quantico from San Bernardino was a long one, and Emily slept for most of it. Derek tried to keep his focus on the stack of case files in his bag, but every so often he’d look over at Emily and flash back to that night in the warehouse. He couldn’t change the events of that night any more than he could change the events of this one, and he knew that neither one was really his fault, but he still felt like he’d failed her—twice. He loved Emily—not _romantically,_ of course, although he did have a bit a crush on her when she’d first joined the team, before he’d realized just _how_ unrequited that crush was doomed to be. She loved him, too, like the brother she used to imagine she had when she was a lonely kid moving from country to country with parents who were always too busy for her.

“I could’ve done that,” Emily said as Morgan carried her ready bag off the plane.

“I know you _could_ have,” he replied, “But I didn’t think you should have to.” Emily rolled her eyes and groaned. Ugh, was he going to coddle her? She hated that.

“Thanks, Morgan,” she said reluctantly.

She reached out to take her bag back once they were deplaned, but he yanked it away. She wasn’t getting this bag back until he’d seen her safely home.

“You know, you don’t have to treat me like a baby,” she said indignantly when he held yet another door open for her.

“I’m not treating you like a baby, Prentiss,” he said, “I’m treating you like an injured friend.”

Emily scoffed. “Well, you don’t have to do that either.”

“Uh, you’re my friend, and you’re injured, so, yeah, I kind of do,” he retorted.

“Hey, where are you going?” she asked, “My car’s this way.”

“Uh-uh, you can’t drive yourself like that,” he said.

“Yes I can,” she insisted, “I’ll be fine.”

Derek shook his head no. “I’m driving you home, Prentiss,” he said, “No arguing!”

Emily clicked her tongue. “Actually, you’re driving me to Diana’s,” she said, “She has my cat, and you have to explain to her why my arm is in a sling.”

“Emily! Oh, my god,” Diana exclaimed when she saw her girlfriend’s arm, “What happened? Are you okay, babe?”

“I’m _fine,_ ” Emily insisted, “Really, it’s nothing.”

“Derek, is she really fine?” Diana asked.

“She took a hit, but she’ll be good as new in a couple weeks,” Derek said, “Believe me, Diana, I take full responsibility for this one.”

“I’m just surprised she didn’t try to drive herself home like this,” Diana said dryly, stroking Emily’s hair with one hand and taking her ready bag from Derek with the other, “How’d you get her to agree to that?”

“Oh, she put up a fight,” he said.

“Hey, maybe you guys could stop talking about me like I’m not here,” Emily said.

Diana wrapped an arm around Emily’s shoulders and pressed a kiss into her temple. “Let’s get you inside, sweetheart,” she said. She motioned for Derek to follow them; she knew by now that she might not get the whole story from Emily.

“Here, they gave her some pain meds at the hospital,” Derek said once they were inside the apartment, handing Diana an orange pill bottle, “She didn’t want them.”

“They make me sleepy,” Emily protested.

“Maybe some sleep wouldn’t be the worst idea,” Diana said, “Why don’t you go lie down for a bit, and I’ll make you some tea?”

Derek and Diana watched Emily sulk into the bedroom before turning back to each other.

“So how bad was it?” Diana asked, “Give me the real version, not the Emily version.”

“This guy was attacking a woman in her house, and I said we needed to split up, in case he ran. I sent Emily and JJ around back. I didn’t know he was right there, by the back door, and…he fired on them. Emily got hit,” he said, “The bullet grazed her arm; it didn’t hit anything major. She’ll make a full recovery, but…I’m the reason she’s hurt. It was my decision that got her shot. I’m really sorry, Diana.”

“You did what you had to,” Diana shrugged, “I’m sure Emily doesn’t blame you, and neither do I.”

He gave her a soft smile. “I appreciate that.”

“How are _you_ doing? Are _you_ okay?” she asked.

“I’m not the one who got shot,” he replied.

“That’s not what I meant,” she said, “Emily told me a bit about the unsub…”

“Nah, I’m fine,” he assured her, “People are gonna say stupid shit, and…you just can’t let it get to you, you know?”

Diana snorted. “I’m a biracial Black lesbian in a profession dominated by white men, so, yeah, I definitely know.”

“I’m way more upset about Emily getting hurt than I am about some guy calling me names,” he said.

“Thanks for looking after her, Derek,” she said, “I’m really glad she has you.”

They heard a loud crash from the bedroom, followed by Emily yelling, “Son of a bitch!”

“Fuck, that’s my cue,” Diana said, “I’d better go check on our girl.”

“Alright,” Derek said, “Good seeing you, Diana.”

“Yeah, you too,” she replied.

She rushed into the bedroom, where she found Emily kneeling on the ground in front of an upended dresser drawer and a pile of clothes.

“Emily, honey, what happened to lying down?” she said.

“Yeah, well, I don’t see a cup of tea in your hands, so I guess we both lied,” Emily retorted. She didn’t mean for it to sound so harsh, not when she knew Diana only meant well. She sighed heavily. “Sorry. I wanted to change out of my work clothes, but then I couldn’t get my bag unzipped, so I thought I’d borrow something of yours, except the dresser drawer got stuck, and—”

“I would have helped you with that,” Diana said, picking up Emily’s ready bag and unzipping it for her.

“I didn’t need any help,” Emily insisted.

Diana raised an eyebrow. “The state of my bedroom says otherwise,” she teased gently.

“I can still do things for myself; I’m not an invalid,” Emily shot back.

“Nobody said that you were,” Diana replied.

“Well, then don’t treat me like one!” Emily said, “I _hate_ being coddled.”

“I know that,” Diana retorted, “You think I don’t know that?” She shook her head and looked at Emily kindly. “I’m sorry if I coddled you. Now, will you please let me help you with this? I promise, it’s not coddling; it’s just helping. Look, the fact is there are going to be certain things you just can’t do with one hand, and it doesn’t make you weak to admit that.”

Emily let out an exasperated sigh. “Yeah, I know, but…”

Diana walked over to her and gently helped her to her feet. She brushed her hand over Emily’s cheek and looked at her lovingly, but Emily still sulked and avoided eye contact.

“Emily, you have to let people take care of you,” Diana admonished gently, “Not all the time—just while your arm is in a sling.”

Diana was right, of course; Emily knew by now that she usually was. She relented and let Diana help her out of her work clothes and into her pajamas. Diana was gentle, but she didn’t coddle. She helped Emily get ready for bed, letting her do the things she could still do on her own, and not making a big deal out of the things she couldn’t. Emily had always been fiercely independent and self-sufficient, and she prided herself on being able to get by on her own. She usually hated having to depend on other people for anything—it made her feel weak and needy, and being pitied always made her want to vomit. Depending on Diana felt different. It felt safe and secure. When Diana unscrewed the cap on the tube of toothpaste for her, she didn’t feel pitied; she just felt loved. She held out her toothbrush for Diana, and a soft smile crept across her face as she watched Diana squeeze toothpaste onto it. She leaned forward to kiss her before raising the toothbrush to her mouth.

Years later, Emily would reflect back on that as the moment she knew she would spend the rest of her life with Diana Barrigan.


	7. Chapter 7

“Art Crimes” was a deceptively glamorous name, Diana thought. It evoked images of museum heists and high-end forgers and gentleman thieves running around Europe like in caper movies. Really, it was just a desk job with an awful lot of paperwork. With her background in art history it was a natural fit, and she liked being able to put her knowledge to good use, but Emily’s job seemed much more exciting. Whenever she got bored at work, she found herself wondering what she’d be doing if she’d stayed in New York—She had no doubt Caffrey was keeping things interesting up there. Of course, if she’d stayed in New York, she never would have met Emily, and she didn’t even want to imagine a life without Emily. Sometimes she felt like Emily was the only thing keeping her in D.C.—not that there was a problem with that, really; Emily was _definitely_ worth staying for.

She was at lunch with Emily when she got the call from Peter Burke. He needed her in New York, now. Something about an OPR agent and a music box? Caffrey was involved, of course, and Kate, too. Peter had been suspended, Elizabeth _arrested,_ and Neal’s tracking anklet wasn’t tracking. It all sounded way more urgent—and way more intriguing—than the pile of paperwork on her desk.

“It’ll only be for a few days,” she assured Emily, “I know we were supposed to have dinner with your parents, but—”

“It’s fine, Di, go,” Emily said, “After all the times I’ve had to cancel on you and hop on a plane at a moment’s notice, I’d be a hypocrite if I gave you a hard time about going to New York. Besides, the way you talk about Peter—I know he means a lot to you; I know how much you want to help him.”

She did want to help him; quite frankly, she missed him. And Jones. And even Caffrey. She packed a bag and bought a train ticket and headed back to New York. It felt good to be back in Manhattan. D.C. had plenty of excitement, sure, but not like this. She took in the sights and sounds of the city as she made her way to the park where Peter wanted to meet, and she found herself feeling nostalgic. The walk to the park was a nice trip down Memory Lane. She found Peter on a park bench and sauntered up to him.

“Thanks for coming,” he said.

“You knew I would, boss,” she replied.

He chuckled. “You don’t have to call me that anymore. So how’s D.C.? You like it?”

“Different city, same paperwork,” she shrugged, “Things are probably more interesting with Caffrey.”

“Too interesting,” he said.

“Is he the reason I’m here?” she asked.

Peter sighed. “Diana, what I’m about to ask you to do is a lot more than paperwork. I need you to look into an OPR agent. Agent Garrett Fowler. Somehow he’s manipulating Neal’s anklet.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Neal has…access to something he wants,” he said.

“Sounds like he hasn’t changed,” she said.

“No,” Peter chuckled, “Same old Neal.”

“He still wearing the hat?” Diana asked.

She and Peter parted ways, and she went back to her hotel room to start looking into Agent Fowler. She looked out the hotel room window at the evening cityscape. She didn’t want to let herself get _too_ nostalgic—she had a great life in D.C., a life with the woman of her dreams—but you really couldn’t beat that view. She needed to get started on the assignment Peter had given her, and she pulled out her phone to make a call.

“Speak and be heard!” a voice chirped.

“Penelope, hi,” Diana said, “It’s Diana Barrigan.”

Penelope gasped. “A delightful surprise! What can I do for you today, my artistically inclined friend?”

Diana chuckled. “I’m in New York helping my old boss with something, and he needs me to look into an OPR agent: Garrett Fowler. From what Emily tells me, you’re the queen of digging up dirt.”

“I am indeed,” Penelope said, “What did this Fowler guy do?”

“Arrested my boss’ wife, had him suspended, turned off a CI’s tracking anklet, couple of other shady things, too,” Diana said, “But you need to be careful, okay? Don’t leave a trail. He can’t know we’re looking into him.”

“Oh, I’m always careful,” Penelope said, “I will let you know what I find.”

“Thanks, Penelope, I owe you one,” Diana said.

“Anything for Em’s better half,” Penelope replied.

Diana went over to Peter’s house later that night with the results of her preliminary search into Fowler. She sat across from him at his dining table with Satchmo’s head resting on her feet, and it felt like old times.

“This is everything I could find on Garrett Fowler,” she said, “But I’ve got a friend digging deeper, so whatever there is to find, we’ll find it.”

“This is already more than Jones could dig up,” Peter remarked as he looked through the file.

Diana smirked. “Jones doesn’t know Penelope Garcia.”

“We don’t need much,” Peter said, “He’s aiding premeditated robbery. The anklet is the key.”

“You’re sure it’s him?” she asked.

“Fowler’s doctored Caffrey’s information in the past, and he’s doing it now,” he said, “I need to know how.”

“Well, the marshals monitor the anklet,” she said.

“Department of Justice supersedes their authority. Fowler could override them and get access, or he’s altering the data remotely.”

“You can’t do that from just any internet connection,” she said.

“No,” he replied, “You’d need a secure line. He’s doing it from the OPR offices. They have one in New York; that’s where I need to go.”

Diana shook her head. “Nobody gets into that building without—”

“Federal clearance and an appointment,” Peter finished, “They wouldn’t let me within a hundred yards.”

“But they’d let me,” she replied.

“Fowler finds out, and it’s career suicide,” he said.

“I came here to help you,” she insisted.

“Thank you,” he said.

Diana stood up from her chair and grabbed her jacket. She turned to leave, but then paused and turned back.

“This music box,” she said, “What happens if he gets it?”

“I don’t know,” Peter said, “But we need to make sure he doesn’t.”

When she left Peter’s house, she checked her phone and saw an email from Penelope. She’d managed to track down Fowler’s whereabouts in New York and figure out his usual schedule. It wouldn’t be too hard for Diana to follow him the next day and get into his office.

The next morning, Peter got word of a robbery at the Italian Consulate, and he went to Neal’s apartment to confront him about it. He’d suspected Neal might do something stupid like this, but he’d still held out hope. Lately it had seemed like Neal was really making progress, but it turned out he and Alex were planning a heist the whole time. What Neal hadn’t planned for was Alex double crossing him and taking the box for herself, and without that box, Fowler would never give up Kate.

“Fowler’s still out there,” Neal said.

“Don’t worry,” Peter said, “I’ve got something in play.”

After Peter left, Alex came by Neal’s apartment with the music box. Neal wasn’t sure why she’d changed her mind, but as long as he had the box, he didn’t care. He took the box from her happily.

“I figured I don’t need all the heat this is gonna bring,” she said, “I don’t need the same guy who’s been after you coming after me.”

“You always made smart decisions,” Neal said.

Alex smiled. “You should try it sometime.”

Diana followed Fowler from his hotel to his usual breakfast spot to the local OPR offices. Penelope had said he usually took his coffee break around 11, and she waited outside the building until she saw him leave before sneaking in. She called Peter and updated him on her progress in hushed tones.

“Fowler just left for his coffee break; I’m about to enter his office,” she whispered.

“Aim for his laptop, Diana,” Peter said, “But be careful.”

“I’ll be out before he can take his first sip of macchiato,” she assured him.

Diana slipped into Fowler’s office and called up the best hacker she knew.

“Okay, Garcia, I’m in. All the files are encrypted; you can decrypt them, right?”

“I’m hurt you would even ask that,” Penelope replied, “Just copy them onto the drive, and I can do anything you want with them.”

“You’re the best, Penelope,” Diana said.

“Good, you’re catching on,” Penelope teased.

Diana began the download. She looked up and saw a man standing in the doorway.

“Can I help you?” he asked.

“Hey,” she said nervously, “I’m from IT. Agent Fowler requested another security protocol. Insisted we schedule it during his coffee break. You know how he gets.”

“Yeah,” he said. He dropped a file folder on Fowler’s desk and left, and Diana exhaled in relief. Still, she’d been seen, and she’d have to get out quickly. She finished copying the files and slipped out, leaving the “FILE DOWNLOAD COMPLETE” screen up on the computer. Once she was out of the building, she called Peter again.

“Hey, Peter,” she said, “I’m heading to the garage. I’ve got everything on Mentor. You’re not going to believe it.”

“Is Neal involved?” Peter asked.

“Heavily,” she replied, “There’s another file, but Garcia’s still working on it.”

“See you in a moment,” he said.

Diana stopped in her tracks when she reached the garage and saw Fowler waiting for her beside his car.

“Agent,” he said, “You were on my computer.”

“Agent Barrigan, D.C. Office,” she said, “I have a warrant for my investigation on Mentor.”

“Huh. Why is D.C. looking at my investigation?” he asked.

“OPR appropriating resources for Neal Caffrey—an art thief—raises questions,” she replied.

“It’s all legitimate,” he said.

“I know.”

“And what else did you find?” he asked.

“An encrypted file,” she said, “I couldn’t open it.”

Fowler cocked his gun at her. “I’d like it back.”

Diana’s heart pounded in her ears as she stared at the gun pointed at her. Peter rushed around the corner right at that moment.

“Burke,” Fowler said.

“Fowler,” Peter replied.

“Of course you’re involved in this,” Fowler said, “Stay where you are.”

“Lower your weapon,” Peter said.

“You have no idea what you’re—” Fowler began.

“Lower your weapon,” Peter said again.

“Just stay where you are,” Fowler demanded, “Why are you doing this?”

“We’re on the same team…” Peter urged.

“Stay where you are!” Fowler demanded again, “Just stay where you are. You’re out of your league. You have no idea what you’re getting involved in.”

“You don’t want to shoot an agent,” Peter said.

Fowler’s gun was still pointed at Diana.

“Put the gun down!” Peter shouted, drawing his gun at Fowler. Diana followed his lead and drew hers as well. Fowler’s gun didn’t move.

“Drop the weapon!” Peter shouted. Fowler pointed his gun at Peter, who fired two shots. Fowler gasped and coughed as he fell back against the car. Peter opened Fowler’s shirt to reveal a vest with two bullets in it.

“Breathe. Just breathe Fowler,” he said, holding Fowler up as he gasped for air.

“How’d you know he was wearing a vest?” Diana asked.

“I didn’t,” Peter admitted. He slammed Fowler against the car door. “What the hell is Mentor?”

“Mentor is legit,” Fowler said, “Caffrey works for us now. He and Kate are deep undercover for OPR.”

“OPR doesn’t have deep cover agents,” Peter retorted, “You’re helping him disappear.”

“He wants to go,” Fowler said.

“You met with him again,” Peter said. He looked into the backseat of the car and noticed the music box. “Neal’s gonna disappear. I need to know where he is. Tell me where he is!”

“Why do you care?” Fowler spat out.

“Give me the drive,” Peter said to Diana. Diana reached into her pocket and handed it over. “You want me to upload this to D.C?!” Peter threatened Fowler, “Or do we have something to talk about?”

“Airstrip by the Hudson River, hangar four,” Fowler said.

Peter couldn’t stay long; he had to find Neal right away. Still, he hung back for a moment to thank Diana and wish her well. Despite the circumstances, they’d both enjoyed their reunion and working together again.

“Thanks again, Diana,” he said.

“Any time, boss,” she replied.

“It was good to have you back, even if it’s just for a few days,” he said, “You know there’s always a place for you here in New York.”


	8. Chapter 8

“A rowhouse in Dupont Circle? Wow!” Penelope exclaimed.

“I can’t believe I’m doing it,” Emily said, “I mean, it’s probably not going to work out, anyway, right? There are five other sealed bids, and I offered _way_ below what the owners are asking.”

“Uh huh, sounds to me like someone’s hoping they don’t get it,” JJ said.

“Orthophobia,” Reid added, “Fear of owning personal property.”

“No, I don’t have a fear of owning stuff—turn me loose in a shoe store, I’ll prove that,” Emily retorted.

“But it is a big deal,” JJ said, “You and Diana buying a house.”

“ _I’m_ buying a house,” Emily corrected, “A house that I am hoping Diana might decide to move into at some point in the near future, which is why I didn’t want to make an offer until I was sure she liked it.”

The team gathered in the conference room to go over their next case. Just one day after the execution of serial killer Rod Garrett, the body of a young woman named Cara Smith was found in Enid, Oklahoma. She’d been murdered in the exact same manner as all of Garrett’s victims. Either it was a copycat, or someone was trying to create doubt about Garrett’s guilt. Either way, the BAU team was headed to Oklahoma. Emily called her girlfriend on the way to the jet.

“Hey, babe,” she said, “I’m afraid I probably won’t be home when you get back to D.C. We got a new case, and I’m on my way to Oklahoma.”

“Oh, that’s okay,” Diana said, “I actually think I’m gonna stick around here for a few more days.”

“Oh. Everything alright?” Emily asked.

“Yeah, uh, there’s just a lot left to deal with still, and-and Peter could really use my help. This whole case sort of…blew up,” Diana replied, “I mean, literally—an airplane exploded.”

“Shit! Seriously?”

“It was pretty bad,” Diana said, “So, um, I guess I’ll see you when we both get back to D.C.?”

“Sure, okay,” Emily replied.

“Bye, love you, stay safe,” Diana said.

“You too, babe,” Emily chuckled, “Stay away from exploding airplanes.”

On the jet, Hotch informed them the local police had found another victim just half a mile from the first, murdered a mere six hours later. Reid and JJ checked out the latest crime scene while Hotch and Morgan went to the prison and Emily and Rossi went to talk to Garrett’s widow.

Helen Garrett was a middle-aged woman with a world-weary expression that made her seem older than she was. She was packing up her house to move to Missouri when Emily and Rossi stopped by. She was polite and forthcoming with them; she’d never suspected her husband might be leading a double life, but once the evidence was clear, she had no doubt of his guilt. She still stood by him though, for years. He’d stood by her when she’d been diagnosed with cancer early in their marriage, and she’d felt obligated to do the same for him—No matter how sick his mind was, he’d stayed with her, no matter how sick her body was. After a while, she pulled an old divining rod out of a wooden chest.

“My daddy said that I had one of these in me,” she said, “That I could find the bad in any man, see beneath the surface and find the evil. Maybe Daddy was right, the way Rod turned out.”

There was something so melancholy about her; she was like a character from a gothic novel. It gave Emily chills.

“You have our number,” Rossi said as he and Emily left Helen’s house, “If you remember anything that can help us, please call.”

“Yeah,” she nodded.

“It looks like your husband has an admirer, Helen,” Emily said, “So please think about any phone calls you or he might have gotten, or any suspicious fan mail.”

“I will,” she said, “But most of the mail that he got was hateful. So I screened out the mean, crazy ones, and I only kept the positive ones to take to the prison to read to him.”

“People wrote him here, not at the prison?” Rossi asked.

Helen nodded. “Rod said that the guards were opening his mail and taking the money that people sent. He had a defense fund. So I got a post office box.”

“Do you still have any of those letters?” Emily asked.

“Mmhmm,” Helen hummed, “Kept ’em all.”

“Would you mind if we took a look at them?” Emily asked.

Helen sighed and went to go retrieve her boxes of letters. “You can have them,” she said, handing the boxes to Emily and Rossi, “Now that Rod’s gone, I was just going to throw them out, anyway.”

Back at the police station, Emily and Rossi went through Garrett’s fan mail. Even for a serial killer, the guy had some pretty disturbed fans. One praised his courage and called him “an inspiration.” And these were supposed to be, as Rossi pointed out, “the non-wacko letters.” A third body turned up soon after the second, and Hotch and Reid went to the crime scene while Emily and Rossi hung back on mail duty. There were so many letters, it would take them all day to go through them.

“You remember when people used to write letters by hand?” she said.

“That’s how I wrote my first book,” he said, “Give me a keyboard any day.”

“Oh, come on, Rossi,” she said, “The excitement of seeing an envelope from a friend in your mailbox. Now, it’s just an electronic ding on your computer.”

Handwritten mail was underrated, Emily thought. She’d gotten into the habit of sending Diana postcards from the various cities she visited on BAU cases, and Diana kept them all in a scrapbook. It was sweet; it was romantic, even. She thought maybe one day, years from now, after she’d retired from the Bureau, she and Diana might be able to pull out that old scrapbook and look back at their life together as told through the postcards she’d sent. She was snapped out of her pondering by a particularly interesting letter that Rossi found. The writer had quoted _A Thousand and One Nights_ , the exact same quote Garrett had recited just before his execution.

They went back to Helen Garrett’s house to ask her if she remembered the letter, and if there were any more from the same admirer. The letter was a few years old, but Helen remembered it; it was one of Rod’s favorites. She hadn’t known about her husband reciting that quote before he was executed, and the way she reacted when Emily told her said that there was something significant about that particular quote. Rossi called Hotch to let him know, and the team gathered at the police station to give the profile. With the unsub killing in six-hour intervals, they knew his next kill would be at midnight. That gave Emily some down time to call her girlfriend.

Diana had just finished her work for the day and returned to her hotel room when Emily called. Emily was glad she caught Diana during a free moment for both of them; that didn’t always happen when they were both working cases. It was nice to hear Diana’s voice and tell her about the creepy case and listen to tales from New York, but Emily could tell Diana had something on her mind, something she wasn’t saying.

“Everything okay over there, sweetie?” she asked. There was a long pause while she waited for Diana’s response.

“Peter asked me to stay,” Diana said, “Lauren Cruz is transferring to L.A., so there’s a spot open on his team, and he really wants me to fill it.”

“Oh,” Emily said, “Wow.”

“I mean, I didn’t take it,” Diana said, “I told him I couldn’t do anything without discussing it with you first.”

“But you’re considering it…” Emily said.

“Not if you don’t want me to,” Diana replied.

“What would you do if I weren’t a factor in all of this?” Emily asked hesitantly.

Diana scoffed. “Well, I don’t think that’s even worth discussing, Em, because you _are_ a factor. A really, really big one. I’m not just going to up and leave you behind just because…because I kind of love it here, and because I actually really missed working for Peter.”

“You want the job, don’t you?” Emily said.

There was a long pause, and Diana’s voice was halting as she said, “I don’t think I want it more than I want to be with you.”

Emily didn’t have much time to process Diana’s news before Hotch called her back to work. She and Morgan drove around Enid, patrolling the unsub’s hunting ground in the hopes of stopping a fourth murder. Several officers from the local police department were out doing the same. A report came in of an abduction just two blocks away from where Morgan and Emily were parked, and the wheels of the SUV screeched as Morgan cut the wheel and started chasing after a dark sedan. The driver got out of the car and put his hands up. He wasn’t the unsub; he was the fourth victim’s boyfriend, and he was in the house when she was taken. The fourth victim lived in a completely different neighborhood from the other three, and Garcia couldn’t find any connection. Emily found the latest victim dumped just a few blocks away from the abduction site, and the unsub had changed his M.O., too. They’d need to re-evaluate their profile.

They knew the geography was important. They stared at the map of the four crime scenes on the board at the police station, trying to figure out the unsub’s pattern.

“Let’s connect the dots,” Spencer said, “Literally.” He took out a marker and drew lines connecting the four crime scenes. They all looked at the shape on the board.

“Tip of a spear?” Emily suggested.

“Or maybe it’s an arrow pointing south?” Derek said, “Could he be steering us to his next victim?”

“It’s a quadrilateral, but there’s nothing particularly symbolic about a 4-sided concave polygon,” Spencer said.

“Hey, Spence,” JJ piped up, “May I?” She took the marker from Spencer and rounded out the lines of the shape on the board. “See what happens when you add a curve to the lines?”

“A heart,” Emily said.

Not just any heart, either. A heart right around Helen Garrett’s house. _She_ was the missing piece. Everything the unsub did was all about her. They loaded up the SUVs and drove to Helen Garrett’s house. She wasn’t home, and there was no evidence of a struggle. Garcia found prison records of her visiting one last time to pick up her husband’s belongings; she’d just left. Hotch, Rossi, and JJ stayed at the house, while the rest of the team headed to the prison to catch up with her. They realized the unsub must be someone intimately connected with the Garretts, someone who would have known Helen’s secrets and seen her devotion to her husband. There was one clear answer: the prison shuttle driver. By the time the team reached the prison, Helen was gone, but her car was still in the parking lot. They knew the unsub had her.

They managed to track down the unsub’s workspace and rescue Helen Garrett. The case had exhausted them all, and they took the chance to get some sleep on the plane ride home. Halfway through the flight, Penelope popped up on the screen, waking them all from their naps.

“Oh, hey, guys, hi, I just wanted to see what’s going on. Hi, hello.”

“This better be important, Garcia,” Emily said.

“Oh, it’s nothing,” Penelope replied, “It’s just that a messenger came by the office today with some papers from escrow!”

“No!” Emily gasped.

“Oh, yes!” Penelope exclaimed, “The house in Dupont Circle—you got it!”

“Congratulations,” Hotch said.

Emily’s joy was short-lived when she remembered Diana’s offer in New York. Suddenly all her dreams of spending lazy Sunday mornings snuggled up on a porch swing with a cup of tea and Diana seemed out of reach, and the bright smile quickly faded from her face.

“Six seconds,” Rossi mused, “Fastest case of buyer’s remorse ever.”


	9. Chapter 9

If Derek hadn’t insisted on doing the inspection with her, she might have just skipped it altogether. She’d been so excited about buying this house, but ever since Diana told her about Peter Burke’s offer, her heart just wasn’t in it anymore. She loved the house, but would it still feel like home if Diana never lived there? She wasn’t sure.

“I don’t know…” she said as they left the house.

“Emily, what’s not to know?” he said, “It’s a beautiful place.” It was. It really, truly was.

“There are cracks in the foundation,” she sighed.

“Cracks can be fixed,” he said.

“No,” she replied, “They can only be hidden. They’re still there.”

“What are you, afraid the place is gonna fall down?” he asked.

“I’m afraid it’ll never be what it once was,” she said.

“Okay, somebody’s heart’s not into it,” he said, “What’s going on?”

Emily sighed and shook her head. “I don’t know; I just—I shouldn’t be doing this without Diana, right? She should be here for this.”

Derek cocked his head and narrowed his eyes. “Emily, if that’s all this is about, we can come back with Diana…”

“No,” Emily said, “It’s more than that, it’s…” She looked down at the ground as her voice trailed off, and when she looked back up at Derek, she said, “People kill for opportunities like this; am I crazy to walk away?”

“Well, you’ve gotta do what’s best for you,” he shrugged, “Follow your gut. What’s it trying to tell you?”

She didn’t get a chance to answer that question, because their phones rang, calling them in to work. They responded to a robbery in progress at Colonial Liberty Bank, where a trio of masked robbers known as the Face Cards were holding the staff and bank customers at gunpoint. They had committed seven bank robberies in seven months, each time leaving at least one person dead. They’d already shot a security guard and a D.C. police officer—Will’s partner, specifically. Will was on the scene with the team as Hotch briefed them on the situation. Garcia was set up in the van with all her screens, and she had the bank’s security footage so they could watch what was happening.

“They’re using the hostages as human shields,” Rossi said.

“This is the first time they’ve been interrupted,” JJ said, “What went wrong?”

“It’s a big bank,” Emily said, “It’s possible they weren’t able to round everybody up before somebody triggered an alarm.”

“But why haven’t they cut the feed now that they’ve been cornered?” Morgan asked, “Letting us see inside gives up a tactical advantage. They’ve got to know that.”

“They don’t seem to care,” Hotch replied.

JJ, Emily, and Spencer looked into their past robberies and worked victimology while Morgan strategized with the police department. Rossi would handle negotiations with the Face Cards. Chief Strauss arrived right as the team dispersed; she’d been personally ordered to supervise the BAU’s operation.

“Puts you right in the spotlight,” Rossi mused.

“Well, you’ve got gunmen with hostages in the capital,” she replied, “The Hill’s concerned.”

Rossi called the bank to begin negotiations.

“Who the hell is this?” an angry voice snarled.

“My name is David Rossi; I’m with the FBI,” he replied, “To whom am I speaking?”

Rossi used every trick in the hostage negotiator playbook, but these unsubs weren’t going to go for it. These guys were different; they were ruthless. The woman known as the Queen looked directly into one of the security cameras before shooting a hostage point blank, hitting him squarely in the gut right in front of his young daughter.

“You better send in some help, or more people are gonna die,” the voice over the phone said.

Strauss sent in a medic—over Hotch and Rossi’s objections; if they gave into one demand, they’d have to give into all of them, but the Director had ordered it, so they were overruled. Strauss agreed to send in an agent with medical training who would know to take advantage of any opportunities that arose.

In the BAU conference room, JJ, Emily, and Spencer reviewed the files from the previous robberies. Not a single survivor or witness had been able to give a description of the robbers’ faces before they put their masks on. It would make their job much harder, but Hotch and Rossi deduced that this was personal for the male robbers, and it was possible they were related. That at least gave Garcia something to go on.

“Hey, uh, there _is_ something these robberies all have in common,” JJ said, “The Queen’s the only one who pulls the trigger.”

Garcia identified the King and the Jack as brothers Chris and Oliver Stratton, career bank robbers, both, but they’d never worked with a third partner, and they’d never killed anyone in their robberies. That had to mean that the Queen was in charge. Each time, she shot her victim in the gut and let them bleed out while she and her partners robbed the bank. In the van, Strauss and Penelope watched her take off her mask and look straight into the camera while she put on red lipstick. It was a gutsy move; they’d now gotten a good look at her face, but they still couldn’t identify her.

The King and Queen let the medic into the bank to treat the Jack, who had been shot in the initial shootout that killed Will’s partner and had already lost a lot of blood. The medic was too late; he couldn’t save the man. Morgan urged the medic to get out quickly—If the Jack died, there was no telling what his brother, the King, would do. The King fired two shots at the medic, one in the chest, and one in the head, and the team watched him fall over the security feed in the van. There was nothing they could do.

The SWAT team arrived and got into position, ready to move on the bank if they had to.

“When the crossfire starts, what’s going to happen to the hostages caught in the middle?” Hotch asked.

“It’s the wrong call, Erin, and you know it,” Rossi said.

“It’s not my call,” Strauss insisted.

“You’re here and you’re in charge,” Hotch shot back.

“So you want me to disobey the Director?” she retorted.

“No,” Hotch said, “I just want you to buy us a little time. Don’t be quite so efficient.”

Strauss sighed. “Whatever you’re gonna do, do it fast.”

Hotch was confident that negotiating with the robbers was still their best bet, but to do that, they’d need to know more about their unsubs. According to Emily’s old Interpol boss, Clyde Easter, the Queen had committed a series of bank robberies across Europe before crossing the Atlantic, but she’d never worked with partners before. The previous American bank robberies had just been practice runs for the Stratton brothers. This robbery was also riskier, and more public. It was the first time they’d had an audience. The brothers were clearly in it for the money, but the Queen seemed to have her own motivation, one the team couldn’t quite figure out. Rossi tried calling again.

“What?” the King said.

“How do you want to end this, Chris?” Rossi asked.

“I want out of here,” he replied, “I want an armored truck and a plane with a clear flight path to Switzerland.”

“No, no, no—Chad,” the Queen interrupted, “We want to go to Chad.”

“Yeah, no agents with guns this time,” the King added, “We’ll fly ourselves.”

Chad was a strange demand. The country was in the middle of a civil war; it was hardly an ideal destination for a getaway. Emily called up her old Interpol boss to see if she could find out more.

“Our ghost wants to go to Chad,” she said, “I’m figuring you’re my best chance of finding out why.”

“Chad?” Clyde said, “That’s an odd choice; they’re not exactly hospitable this time of year.”

“They said they could fly themselves there. Nothing suggests that Chris would have that ability, so she must,” Emily said.

“Hmm, well, unfortunately Interpol doesn’t have that many assets in that particular region in Africa,” he said, “But I’ll see what I can find.”

Back at the bank, Hotch, Rossi, Morgan, and Will were still trying to figure out their next move.

“These guys were too good to get caught, so why did they?” Rossi asked.

“911 received a call alerting them to a robbery in progress,” Will said.

“Actually, it was a text,” Garcia said over the phone, “The message was sent from a cell phone that is currently inside the bank and is registered to a Larry Phillips, Jr.

“Why does that name sound familiar?” Will asked.

“That’s the name of one of the gunmen from the ’97 North Hollywood bank shootout in California,” Rossi said.

“So this is an homage?” Morgan said.

“Guys,” Garcia said, “That text was sent 30 seconds before they blacked out the security feeds for entry.”

“How is that possible?” Strauss asked.

“It didn’t come from a hostage,” Morgan said, “It came from one of the robbers.”

“She wanted us here,” Hotch said.

Emily and JJ joined the rest of the team at the bank, and Garcia got them up to speed. They realized the Queen had another partner—a _real_ partner—that they hadn’t identified yet. They figured the King probably didn’t know about the Queen’s other partner, so calling the bank to tell him might separate the two and give them the tactical advantage they’d been looking for. It seemed to be working, at first, but the Queen was smart. She knew how to get her partner back on her side.

“Enough!” the King said, “I’m done talking to you. I want to talk to someone who won’t jerk me around face-to-face. I want to talk to the cop who shot my brother.”

The cop who shot his brother—that was Will. JJ protested, but Will insisted. He wanted to end this thing, and right now, going into the bank to reason with the King was their best shot. It was risky—there was a could chance the King would retaliate for the death of his brother—but the King promised to shoot a hostage every 60 seconds until Will came in. He shot the first hostage with Rossi still on the phone. They had no choice; they had to send in Will. Morgan held JJ back as she fought and screamed for Will, but he walked into the bank calmly with his hands raised. The team watched with bated breath. A few hostages hurried out of the bank—a sign of good faith. The King raised his gun and fired two shots; Will fell to the ground. JJ burst into tears, and Penelope’s security feed went blank. They had no idea if he was alive.

“He was wearing a vest,” Emily assured JJ, “He might be okay.”

“Might be,” JJ scoffed. Emily knew it wasn’t much; certainly it wouldn’t assuage her if she were in JJ’s shoes.

Rossi joined the rest of the team in the van. “They’re not answering,” he said.

“We need to get inside,” JJ said.

“JJ, it’s too risky,” Morgan pushed back, “We don’t have eyes in there anymore.”

JJ looked to Hotch. “Aaron…” she said. It was rare that any of the team called Hotch by his given name, and Hotch knew exactly what it meant. It meant _You know what I’m feeling right now._ It meant _There’s a chance we could still save him._ It meant _You know you would’ve done this for Haley._

“Let’s go in,” he said.

Hostages filed out one by one as the BAU team prepared to enter the bank. Will was still inside. JJ and Morgan approached the front door, and Emily approached the side. They were just outside and about to go in, when the bank blew up in a fiery explosion that sent them all reeling. Emily crawled through the wreckage. She was pretty shaken up and a little singed, maybe, but she’d escaped the worst of it. She didn’t know if the same could be said for Morgan and JJ. She felt a wave of relief when she heard Morgan’s voice calling for her.

“Emily!”

“Over here!” she called back. Morgan and JJ came over to where she was crouched down beside an elderly couple who were clinging to life after the explosion.

“You okay?” JJ asked.

“Yeah,” she said, turning back to the couple, “They were hiding back here.”

“Can we move them?” Morgan asked.

“Yeah, with help. He’s unconscious,” she replied.

“Just let me stay with him,” the woman pleaded, “Please.”

“We’re gonna get you out of here,” Emily assured her.

“He’s my love of 66 years,” the woman said, “My story.”

JJ and Morgan looked for Will while Emily stayed with the couple. _66 years_ they’d been together. For most of her adult life, Emily couldn’t even fathom being with the same person for _six_ years, let alone _sixty-six._ But now…No, she couldn’t think about Diana right now; she couldn’t be distracted. She couldn’t focus on the fact that after her brush with death the one thing she wanted more than anything in the world was to wrap her arms around the woman she loved and hold her close.

Rossi handled the media circus while Hotch and Strauss strategized with the alphabet soup of law enforcement agencies that had shown up to help. JJ found Will’s wallet outside the bank. He was alive, but the unsubs had taken him God only knew where. They were classic symphorophiliacs: They got off on the chaos they created, and the explosion at the bank was only the beginning. It had been an hour since the explosion, and they still hadn’t left the city. Their next target had to be somewhere in D.C. In the meantime, they’d been able to identify the Queen’s real partner, Matthew Downs. He’d been in the bank the whole time. They’d planned every detail. Emily, Derek, and Spencer walked the rubble of the bank once again, looking for anything that might tell them anything.

“Maybe this is a political statement,” Morgan suggested.

“No,” Emily said, “It’s more personal than that; it’s their story. All of the details are a part of their story. Their timeline suggests they were both destructive before they met.”

“So we’re talking about ex-military turning on their country,” Morgan said.

“It’s rare, but soldiers become disenfranchised no matter what the nationality,” she said, “And if he met someone like-minded at that time, there’d be no stopping them. Here’s the thing: They _are_ a couple. Regardless of what we believe of them, they will celebrate themselves and their connection.” She called up Penelope. “Garcia,” she said, “Is there anything that happened on this date in Chad?”

“Oh, you are good, Emily Prentiss, but this news is not,” Penelope said, “Yes, there were multiple explosions on this date in ’08.”

“Where were there the most casualties?”

“A church,” Penelope replied, “No, wait—a train.”

They knew where Will must be—Union Station. The unsubs would have needed his badge to get in. They rushed to Union Station and split up to look for the unsubs and Will as officers evacuated everyone else. Morgan spotted Downs and gave chase. Emily found Will chained up and strapped to a bomb.

“I found Will!” she said.

“Is he mobile?” Hotch asked.

“Negative,” she replied, “He’s got six transmitters on him, and this whole place is gonna blow.”

“Alright, where are you?” he said, “I’m on my way.”

“No, you’ve got to get everyone out,” she said, “Is the bomb squad here yet?”

“They’re three minutes away,” he said.

“Copy.”

“Emily, you gotta get Henry,” Will pleaded, “They’re at the house.”

“Rossi and JJ are already on their way,” she assured him, “We’re gonna get you out of here, Will.”

“No, you’re not,” he said, “It’s okay; just get everybody out of here.”

“I’m not gonna leave you; just give me a minute!” she insisted.

“That’s just about all you got,” he muttered.

“Okay, everything they did and said was about them,” she said.

“Narcissists?”

“Romantics.” She turned her attention to the bomb strapped to Will’s chest. “They met in 2008,” she said, punching 2-0-0-8 into the keypad. That wasn’t it. The bomb flashed “2 TRIES LEFT” as the timer counted down.

“Ohhh, what are you doing?” Will groaned, “Seriously, Emily, go. Go!”

“I’m not leaving you!” she insisted, “Okay, hold on. Chad. 2-4-2-3.” She punched the numbers into the keypad. Wrong again. “Oh, damn it!” she cried, “Okay, these are valentines for her, so…a four-letter word: love…life…soul…”

“Izzy!” Will exclaimed, “Her name is Izzy.”

“I-Z-Z-Y,” Emily muttered as she punched the numbers in and prayed she was right. The timer was counting down, and if she was wrong—well, she didn’t even let herself think about that. The timer stopped and dinged, and Emily breathed a sigh of relief—a sigh which was cut short when another compartment door swung open, and another timer began counting down.

“Oh, god!” she gasped. She didn’t have much time; she had to think fast, and she had to focus. She heard Hotch’s voice in her ear.

“Prentiss, what’s your status?” he said, “Prentiss, do you copy?” She couldn’t answer him right now. She took her earbud out and focused all her attention on Will.

“The storytelling’s in the details,” she said, “These wires mean something.”

“Like what?” Will asked as he watched the timer count down.

“The colors of the flag of Chad,” she said, “Red, yellow, and blue, but only one is different from the U.S. flag: yellow.”

“What do you think?” Will groaned.

Emily shook her head. _Here goes nothing,_ she thought as she snipped the yellow wire. The timer stopped, and she collapsed on the ground in relief.

“How’d you do that?” Will asked.

“I didn’t overthink it,” she replied.


	10. Chapter 10

Emily couldn’t stop thinking about the old woman in the bank and what she’d said. _“He’s my love of 66 years, my story.”_ If Emily’s _two_ near-death experiences in the past twelve hours had made her realize anything, it was that she didn’t want to live a story that didn’t include Diana. She thought about that back at the office as she leaned against her desk while the team waited in the bullpen to be given the all-clear to go home.

“We didn’t finish the inspection,” Morgan said to her.

She looked down. “No need.”

“What happened?” Reid asked.

“There is…a horizontal crack in the foundation,” she said, and it was _technically_ true, “It just weakens the entire base that the house is sitting on.”

“Yeah, that does not sound good,” Penelope said.

“So, our unsub is Izzy Rogers,” Strauss said as she came over to the team, “She’ll be charged with multiple counts domestically, and our international counterparts will have their turn with her. She will never see the light of day.”

They were all good to go home, but before they could leave, they saw Hotch emerge from his office with his phone pressed to his ear.

“Hang on, let me check,” he said, “Oh, wait she’s here. Erin, don’t go anywhere. Dave wants to know if everyone is free tomorrow night?”

“Well, that depends on if he’s buying,” Morgan said, “Then I’m definitely in.”

“Yeah, me too,” Emily chimed in. Spencer and Penelope signaled their yeses as well.

“You hear that?” Hotch said, “They’re in.”

Emily rushed out of the BAU office like a bat out of hell and defied every single speed limit sign on the way to Diana’s apartment. The elevator couldn’t come fast enough, and she lamented that her girlfriend chose to live on the 8th floor. She knocked on Diana’s door and counted the seconds until it swung open.

“Oh, Emily, sweetheart!” Diana gasped, throwing her arms around the older woman’s neck and crashing their lips together in a searing, passionate kiss. Emily wrapped her arms around Diana and held her tight. They clung to each other and kissed like their lives depended on it.

Emily smelled like sweat and smoke and dirt, but neither one of them cared. She was alive, and she was safe, and she was pressing open-mouthed kisses into the smooth skin of Diana’s neck. Diana led her into the bedroom, where she helped her out of her clothes and guided her down onto the bed.

“New rule,” she said as she climbed on top of Emily, “You’re not allowed to die on me. Ever. Because I never want to live without you, Emily.”

“I don’t plan on going anywhere,” Emily said, gently pushing Diana’s hair back from her face and kissing her tenderly, “You’re stuck with me for the long haul.”

She pulled Diana’s shirt over her head and then reached up to tease at her nipples through her lacy bra. Diana crashed her lips into Emily’s and kissed her passionately. She managed to get her pants and underwear off without breaking the kiss, and she felt Emily’s hands reach around her back to unclasp her bra. There were no barriers between them anymore, just the sensual pleasure of skin against skin. Diana slipped her hand between Emily’s legs and found her delightfully wet already. She teased her, stroked her, fucked her just the way she liked as the soft, satisfied moans that tumbled from Emily’s gorgeous lips filled the younger woman with an insatiable lust. Then Emily’s index finger was on her clit at just the right angle, and she felt drunk and dizzy and desperate for more. The room filled with the sounds of pleasure and the smell of sex as they tangled on the bed, reveling in each other’s bodies and in being together and alive. Between the bed and the shower, they lost track of how many times they made each other come, but by the time they finally drifted off to sleep in each other’s arms, they were both completely spent and completely satisfied and completely, hopelessly head over heels.

The next day they headed to Rossi’s house for a celebration of love, and Emily couldn’t take her eyes off of _her_ love as they walked up the long driveway to the stately mansion where her best friend was about to marry the love of her life. She smiled at Diana and gave her hand a loving squeeze as they joined the party in the backyard. Penelope came over immediately and greeted them warmly.

“Oh, my gosh, look at the two of you!” she cried, “Emily, my love, you are _killing it_ in that dress. And Diana! You look so glamorous; is it possible you just get even more gorgeous every time I see you?”

“I ask myself that every day,” Emily said, wrapping an arm around Diana’s waist.

Penelope led Diana over to the bar to get a drink while Emily made her way into the house and wandered around. She thought about everything that had happened in the past few days. She thought about all the second chances she’d been given and all the times she’d cheated death, and how they’d all brought her here, to this moment, to this house, surrounded by people who loved her. She thought about Diana and remembered an old adage she’d heard somewhere about the act of meeting your soulmate being 500 years in the making. If 500 years had gone into bringing her and Diana together, then how could she even think about doing something that might tear them apart? She wandered lost in thought until Morgan flagged her down.

“Hey,” he said, “Are we ever going to talk about the house?”

“It’s really not a big deal…” she began.

“Yes, it is,” he replied, “Don’t pretend it’s not. There’s something going on with you, something you’re not telling me about.”

Emily scoffed. “Even if there were, this wouldn’t be the place to discuss it.”

“Emily, look, I know you don’t want to talk about it, but that’s exactly why we need to talk about it,” he said, “This has nothing to do with cracks in the foundation.”

“No,” she admitted, “But it’s a sign.”

“Oh, come on, don’t get all free spirit on me,” he said.

_Free spirit?_ “I almost blew up yesterday,” she retorted, “Twice.”

“I know.”

“That’s about as grounded as you could get.”

“What’s really going on?” he asked.

Emily sighed. “I don’t know, I just—I’ve been feeling really good lately, about where I am. I felt like I was ready to put down roots and build a life—maybe one with Diana—you know, do something permanent for once. But then a couple weeks ago, Diana got a call from her old boss in New York, and she went back to help him out for a few days, and it was supposed to be just a one-time thing, but he asked her to come back and work for him.”

She looked out the window to the backyard, where the love of her life was charming Rossi with her knowledge of Italian wines, and god, she looked stunning. She was wearing a shimmery turquoise dress and the silver necklace Emily gave her for Christmas, and her hair fell around her shoulders in loose waves, and standing in the soft outdoor lighting of Rossi’s enormous backyard, she took Emily’s breath away.

“Ever since she got back, things have just felt different,” Emily continued, “She misses New York. And she says that she’s happy here and that she doesn’t want to leave me, but…I know my girlfriend, Derek. I know she wants this. It’s just not a good time for me to be buying a house in D.C.”

“Would you go to New York with her?” Derek asked.

Emily cast her eyes down to the floor. “I haven’t decided yet,” she said quickly.

“It kind of sounds like you have, Emily,” he said.

She looked back up at him. He was right, although she hadn’t been able to admit it yet, not even to herself. She didn’t _want_ to leave D.C., her job, her home, her team—her _family,_ but she would for Diana. She would follow Diana to the ends of the earth, because wherever Diana went, that was home.

“You think I should stay,” she said.

“I think I miss you already,” he replied.


	11. Chapter 11

As hard as it was to leave the BAU, Emily knew she’d made the right choice. She knew the moment they stepped into their new apartment in New York, and Diana kissed her with a love and passion so strong it could have knocked her off her feet. She knew as she peered over the big box of kitchenware in her arms and saw the bright smile on her girlfriend’s face. She knew when their Chinese takeout arrived, and they sat at the dining table and shared their first meal in their new home. She knew when they headed into the bedroom for the first of many nights in their shared bed, and she pushed Diana’s thighs apart to drink in her fill of that heavenly taste she could never get tired of. She knew when she snuggled up in Diana’s arms and inhaled the scent of jasmine as she let the comforting rhythm of her girlfriend’s heartbeat lull her to sleep.

The apartment in New York was smaller than either of their apartments in D.C.— _and_ it had to fit twice as many people. It took some creative configuring to find a place for all their stuff, but they made it work. They’d begun to settle into a routine: Be woken up by a meowing, hungry cat, get ready for work, have coffee and breakfast together, hold hands in the elevator as they left for work at the FBI field office…It was exactly the life Emily wanted with Diana, just in a different city. And Diana was _so_ happy to be back in New York and working with Peter again. Emily was having a slightly harder time adjusting to the new city and the new job, but even so, she was happy, and she knew she was _exactly_ where she was supposed to be.

It was in the small moments that the adjusting happened; the small moments of quiet, happy, comfortable intimacy between two women in love that made Emily feel like she was truly home. It was mornings like this one, just a regular Tuesday, and they were both getting ready for a regular day at work.

“Babe, have you seen my blue turtleneck?” Emily called out from the bedroom.

“Yes,” Diana said sheepishly when Emily poked her head out and saw her girlfriend _wearing_ said turtleneck.

“Okay now that’s just mean,” Emily said, “Not only do you take my clothes, you look so much better in them!”

She crossed over to Diana, grazing her fingertips over _her_ sweater as she wrapped her arms around her girlfriend’s waist. She kissed Diana, sweetly at first, but then she pulled Diana in closer and deepened the kiss, her tongue sliding easily into the younger woman’s mouth. Diana moaned softly and tangled her fingers in Emily’s silky black hair—Emily had _just_ brushed it, but that didn’t matter. Emily planted kisses along Diana’s neck as her hands roamed the younger woman’s lithe body. They both knew it wasn’t the time for sex right now, but oh, it felt so good to be together like this.

“You’re going to make us late if you keep going like this,” Diana said. Emily pouted, and Diana laughed. “Don’t worry, Em,” she said, “After work, we can pick up right where we left off.”

They held hands in the elevator and on the subway and during the walk from the subway station to the FBI office. They dropped hands as they got close to the building—that was one of the ground rules they’d set early on. Even though they weren’t working _together,_ they were still working in the same office, so they’d had to agree on some professional boundaries. No using work phones or emails for non-work things, no popping by each other’s offices unannounced for personal stuff, and no PDA in or around the FBI building.

Once they were at work, they parted ways: Emily to her office, and Diana to hers. The FBI office was big enough and their jobs different enough that they rarely ran into each other at work. Sometimes they went entire weeks without running into each other in the office. That was fine—nice even. It was good to have a little separation, and now that they lived together and that Emily’s job didn’t take her out on the road for days at a time, it was easier than ever to find time to be together.

After finishing up the Edward Walker case, Diana stayed late at the office to work on her investigation into Project Mentor. She was just about to pack up and head home when Peter called her into his office.

“You did good work today, Diana,” he said, “It’s great to have you back on my team.”

Diana smiled. “Thanks.”

“I need you to do one more thing for me,” he said.

“Sure thing, boss,” she replied.

Peter looked around to make sure nobody could see them before opening his desk drawer and pulling out a cardboard box. He removed the lid to reveal an antique music box.

“Is that—?”

“The famous music box, yes,” he said, “This box means something, but I don’t know what, and I can’t risk it getting into the wrong hands. I need you to hold onto it for me.”

“It’s evidence; won’t somebody notice it’s missing?” she asked.

Peter shook his head. “I took care of that. I switched it out with another antique music box—same size, same description. Nobody will know it’s missing. Nobody will know you’re involved with this at all.”

“Okay,” she said, taking the cardboard box from Peter’s desk.

“And Diana?” he said, “This is just between us. Even Jones doesn’t know about this, so Emily can’t either.”

Diana shook her head. “I don’t like keeping secrets from her…”

“I get that,” Peter said, “I don’t like keeping all of this a secret from Neal, either.”

“Yeah, but you’re not _sleeping_ with Neal,” she retorted. She raised an eyebrow and smiled mischievously. “Are you?”

“I really need you to do this for me,” he said, “Please.”

Diana nodded. “Okay, boss.”

She took the music box home to her apartment. The sound of the shower running told her she wouldn’t have to worry about Emily seeing it. She locked the box away in the wall safe in the bedroom closet and closed the door just as Emily emerged from the shower.

“Hey, baby,” Emily said, “I didn’t hear you come in.”

“Yeah, I just got home—late night,” Diana replied.

Emily laid a hand on Diana’s cheek. “Burke’s been working you pretty hard since you came back.”

“I don’t mind,” Diana shrugged.

“Well, _I_ missed you,” Emily said. She cupped Diana’s chin in her hand and kissed her tenderly.

Diana smiled. “I missed you, too, baby. And don’t think I’ve forgotten about my little promise this morning.”

Emily bit her lower lip and looked at Diana seductively. “Oh, yeah?”

“Come here, beautiful,” Diana husked, taking the towel off of Emily and drinking in the sight of her naked body. She hummed appreciatively as she slid her hands along Emily’s sides and up to her round, full breasts. Emily’s breath hitched, and she shuddered happily at Diana’s touch.

“You’re overdressed,” she whispered as she unzipped Diana’s pants and pushed them down. Diana stepped out of her pants and pulled off her sweater— _Emily’s_ sweater—and guided her girlfriend over to the bed. Emily’s legs hit the edge of the mattress, and she sank down. Diana knelt down in front of Emily and looked up at her with a smoldering gaze that made Emily’s head spin. She pushed the older woman’s knees apart and tasted her. _Oh, fuck,_ she tasted so good. Diana could _live_ between Emily’s legs—tasting her, feeling her, relishing the soft moans and tantalizing whimpers that fell from her perfect lips and grew higher and more frequent as she approached her climax. Emily arched her back and whined Diana’s name as her orgasm washed over her, and Diana wanted to hear that sound again and again. Lucky for her she could—they had the rest of their lives to give each other pleasure.


	12. Chapter 12

“New case,” Peter said, “Potentially corrupt politician. You need a minute to recover?”

“I might, actually,” Neal replied, “Gary Jennings, state senator.”

“You’ve heard of him?” Peter asked.

“I am politically aware,” Neal retorted, “He’s popular; even Mozzie voted for him.”

“Mozzie votes?” Peter asked in surprise.

“More often than you’d think,” Neal replied, “Or would approve of.”

The FBI had had its eye on Jennings for a while, but when his assistant came into Peter’s office to accuse Jennings of illegally funneling money into his campaign, they knew they had a way in. Jennings’ assistant believed he had set up a straw donor scam to get around campaign finance rules, and he had a second set of books that none of his regular campaign staff were allowed to see. In order to get a look at those books and find out what Jennings was up to, the FBI would need to find a way to get Neal into Jennings’ inner circle. Peter would ruffle some feathers by going to Jennings and asking about an old loan scandal to spook him, and then Neal would go in undercover as a political fixer to make the problem disappear. Step 1 went smoothly—Peter successfully convinced Jennings the FBI was looking into the Michaelson loan scandal again and got him sufficiently scared.

“What was the fallout from your meeting with Jennings?” Neal asked the next morning in Peter’s office.

“He called in some favors, tried to get me fired,” Peter said, “Hughes is protecting me, which should frustrate Jennings even further.”

“Excellent.”

“According to Dylan, he’s looking for a new fixer as we speak,” Peter said.

Neal smirked. “I didn’t doubt you for a second.”

“Dylan put your name on the list,” Peter continued, “But Jennings is still looking at other people, too, so we need to make sure you get that job.”

“Well, I don’t have an alias for this type of background,” Neal shrugged.

“You’re about to get one,” Peter said, leading Neal out of his office and into the conference room where his team was assembled, “Courtesy of the FBI.”

“What do you guys need to know about creating a background?” Neal asked them.

“Nothing—we’re the FBI,” Diana replied, “You’re good, but we’re better. You’re now Benjamin Cooper.”

Neal’s Benjamin Cooper alias was airtight—the team had even faked a high school yearbook for him. He was, of course, valedictorian. Neal met with Jennings and his head of opposition research at a swanky restaurant on the Upper West Side. The first thing he did was drop a bug in with the sugar packets on the table. The second thing he did was tell Jennings not to worry about Peter. Instead of smoothing over the loan scandal, Neal was going to create his own—from nothing. Voters would be so preoccupied about the new stadium that was or wasn’t being built where there might or might not be a children’s park, they wouldn’t even care about the FBI looking into some old loans. Neal was a natural at this, and Jennings was intrigued.

“Who’s gonna care about an old loan scandal of yours when you’re fighting against the system?” Neal said, “Against the corporate fat cats who think overpaid athletes are more important than our city’s children.”

“But the story won’t hold up,” Jennings said.

“You’ve got less than a month before the election,” Neal replied, “It doesn’t have to hold up; we just have to distract, right? You’ve got a problem. I’m your solution, Senator.”

Jennings was convinced; Neal was in. They’d start work in earnest tomorrow, but tonight—tonight was date night. Even though Peter had asked Diana to come by and work on their Mentor investigation, she wasn’t going to cancel dinner with Emily. They’d had those reservations for over a week, and Emily’s new role as team leader had her pretty stressed out. She needed this.

“Emily, come on, we’re gonna be late!” Diana called to her girlfriend in the bathroom.

“Yeah, don’t worry, I’m ready,” Emily said as she emerged from the bathroom and grabbed her jacket and purse. She was wearing a dark blue dress that hugged her curves perfectly, and she looked absolutely stunning.

“Oh, baby, you look incredible,” Diana breathed. She wrapped an arm around Emily’s waist and ran a hand through her glossy black hair. Emily smiled and blushed; she loved it when Diana reacted like this. Diana tilted Emily’s chin up and kissed her passionately, not caring if she smeared either of their lipsticks, as her hand slid from Emily’s waist to her ass. Emily pulled away from the kiss and smiled playfully.

“Okay, _now_ who’s making us late?” she teased.

Diana laughed and gave Emily a playful swat on the ass as she ushered them both out the door. They headed to the restaurant, a new tapas place in their neighborhood they’d both been dying to try. The food was delicious and the wine even better, and no matter how many times they did this, date night never ceased to be fun and exciting. Tonight was a little less lighthearted because Emily was feeling down and needed to vent a little, but Diana was more than happy to listen.

“It’s not that I don’t like being in charge; it’s just—it’s a lot of pressure,” Emily said, “Everyone’s always coming to me to make decisions and depending on me to make the right ones. I mean, Hotch—well, he didn’t make it look _easy,_ but he does this every day, and he doesn’t second-guess himself. I don’t know how he does it…”

Diana reached across the table and took Emily’s hand gently. “You miss him, don’t you?”

“Of course,” Emily shrugged, “We’re friends; of course I miss him—all of them.”

“Maybe you should give him a call,” Diana suggested, “Maybe talking to him would help you feel a little less stressed out.”

“Maybe I will…” Emily murmured, looking down into her lap.

“Emily…” Diana began nervously, “Are you sure you’re good with all of this—the new job, the new city…? Because if you’re not—if there’s anything I can do to make you happy here—”

“I _am_ happy here,” Emily assured her, “Honey, I’m _so_ happy here. Look, yes, it was hard for me to leave D.C. and the BAU and my old team, but, Di, you make me happier than I’ve ever been in my entire life, and I don’t _for a second_ regret coming to New York with you.”

Diana smiled. “You make me really happy, too,” she said, “I love you, baby.”

Emily squeezed Diana’s hand. “I love you more.”

After dinner, Diana kissed Emily goodbye and headed over to Peter’s house. He ushered her in, took her jacket, and offered her a beer. Elizabeth was out of town, so it was just Peter and Satchmo at the house. Diana greeted Satchmo with a scratch behind the ears as Peter got her a beer from the fridge.

“How was your dinner with Emily?” he asked.

“It was good,” she replied, “You know, she’s still sort of adjusting to being in New York, but we’ll get there.”

“I’m sure you will,” he said, “The New York Office is lucky to have her; she’s a good agent.”

Diana nodded. “Yeah, they’ve wanted to get someone from the BAU in that position for years, but Derek Morgan turned it down.”

Diana spread her files out across the dining table and showed Peter everything they had from the surveillance footage of Fowler’s mystery meeting. Neither one of them noticed the photographer parked outside Peter’s house.

When Diana came back from her lunch break the next day, she saw Peter and Neal in Peter’s office holding some photos and looking very concerned. Jennings had pictures of Peter and Diana’s meeting at the house last night, and Neal had covered by telling Jennings Diana was an escort having an affair with Burke. He’d already found a connection between Jennings and a high-class escort service, and he convinced the senator that if they could get Diana working for them and have her meet with Peter again, they could use it to make Peter and the whole loan scandal disappear. Jennings agreed, and asked Neal to set up a meeting between Diana and a man named Barrow, the man Neal believed was providing the cash for the straw donor scam. He relayed all of this to Peter, and now all they had to do was get Diana on board.

“Diana? Come here a minute,” Burke called out. Diana stood and walked over to Peter and Neal, who were muttering to each other under their breath.

“Neal told Jennings you’re a hooker,” he told her, “You and I are having an affair. You’re going to go meet with an escort service.”

This sort of thing never happened at her old job. “Okay,” she nodded, “Anything else?”

“No,” he said. As Diana walked away, he turned to Neal and said, “It’s good to have her back.”

At the end of the workday, Diana went home to prepare for her undercover mission that night. She put on a short pink dress and a pair of black heels, and she curled her hair and made sure her makeup was perfect.

“Damn,” Emily said as she came into the room and saw Diana putting the finishing touches on her makeup.

Diana turned to Emily and smiled. “Think it’ll work for my meeting with Barrow?”

“You look really hot, baby,” Emily nodded. She crossed over to Diana and snaked her arms around the younger woman’s waist. Diana wrapped her arms around Emily’s neck and gazed into those beautiful brown eyes she loved so much. The way Emily was looking at her made her want to stay here and spend the night rolling around under the covers with this gorgeous woman. She knew once she left the apartment, every eye that lingered on her just a little too long would be male and lecherous and would make her skin crawl, but Emily’s eyes on her made her feel sexy and excited. She curled her fingertips lightly against the back of Emily’s neck and pressed an open-mouthed kiss against her parted lips.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay tonight?” Emily asked, still holding Diana in a sweet embrace.

“I’ll be fine, Em,” Diana assured her, “He’s a high-end pimp, not a serial killer.”

“I know,” Emily said, twirling a lock of Diana’s hair around her finger, “I know you can take care of yourself, but honey, you’ll be undercover as a call girl in a room full of horny rich men. I just don’t want any of them putting their gross man hands on you.”

Diana smiled softly. “Trust me, I’ll make sure they all keep their hands to themselves. The only hands I want on me are yours.”

Emily slid her hands over Diana’s back and hummed as a seductive grin spread across her face. Diana shook her head and giggled. She didn’t really have time for this, but she just couldn’t resist those dimples. She kissed Emily again, tugging her bottom lip with her teeth as she pulled away. Emily pressed herself up against Diana and began kissing her neck as her hands splayed across the small of the younger woman’s back and held her close.

“Don’t start something you can’t finish,” Diana warned in a singsong voice.

“Who says I don’t plan on finishing?” Emily whispered in Diana’s ear.

Diana pulled back and arched a perfect eyebrow at Emily. “Do you think you can come in less than fifteen minutes?”

“You know I like a challenge,” Emily purred.

Diana snaked one hand around the back of Emily’s head and pulled her in for a searing kiss while her other hand slid into Emily’s underwear. She licked and sucked at the skin of Emily’s neck and moved her fingers purposefully between Emily’s legs, determined to make her come in less than fifteen minutes. She did it in eight.

She cleaned herself up quickly and got ready to leave. Her little detour had put her slightly behind schedule, but it was worth it—fucking Emily was _always_ worth it. She kissed her girlfriend goodbye and headed out the door to meet up with Burke and the team. Once she was wired and ready to go, she headed into the hotel while Peter, Jones, and Caffrey would listen from the van.

Diana walked into the lounge and looked around at all the rich old men and all the heterosexual flirting and canoodling—she was _so_ out of her element here. But she had Peter and the team backing her up in the van, and it wasn’t like she actually had to sleep with any of these men. She’d be fine.

“You must be Lana,” said a man’s voice behind her, “Roger Barrow.”

She turned and shook Barrow’s hand and gave him a flirty smile.

“A friend of mine suggested that you and I could do some business,” he continued.

“What kind of business?” she asked.

This was easier than she’d expected. Barrow was upfront about wanting information on Peter, and he offered Diana a job working for him as an escort in exchange for dirt. It seemed like she was going to get everything she needed from him right here. Maybe she could get out of here quickly; maybe she could go home to Emily and put this dress to good use. Maybe she shouldn’t get her hopes up, because Barrow decided to throw her a curveball.

“Here’s the thing,” he said, “I need to know that I can trust you. And I need to make sure that you know what you’re doing.” He pulled out a hotel room key. “This is for the penthouse suite. Pick any guy at the bar; I want his ten grand in my hand by 4 AM.”

_Fuck._ “Ten thousand in cash,” Diana nodded, taking the key from Barrow.

Barrow winked at her and walked away, and she headed over to the bar nervously.

“Guys, I was not prepared for an audition,” she muttered to her team in the van, “I’m either walking out of here or taking some guy up to the penthouse.” She surveyed her options at the bar. Even if she were straight, she wouldn’t be attracted to any of these men. She just had to pick a guy; she didn’t actually have to _fuck_ him, right? Surely the Bureau would understand if she extorted ten grand from one of these rich assholes and threatened him to keep quiet. She was about to bite the bullet when Caffrey stepped into her path, and a wave of relief washed over her.

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked.

“You sure you can afford me?” she teased.

“I’m pretty good at scrounging up loose change,” he said.

“Prove it,” she said.

He wrapped an arm around her back and whispered into her earbud, “Peter, if you’re wondering where to get $10,000, meet our mutual friend at my place.” He pulled back and smiled at her. “About that drink…”

She let Neal buy her a drink and flirt with her; she kind of hated how much he was enjoying this, but it was definitely way better than the alternative.

“You sure Barrow won’t recognize you?” she asked, leaning against the bar and tilting her head to one side. She still had to make it look like she was seducing him.

“Jennings keeps him far away from the campaign,” Neal replied.

“I don’t blame him,” she said.

“You know,” he teased, “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you weren’t attracted to me at all.”

Diana rolled her eyes. She ruffled his hair, played with his tie coyly, and sat on his lap.

“How’s that?”

“Not bad,” Neal smiled, “Is this doing anything for you?”

Diana shook her head. “Not a damn thing.”

“What were you going to do if I hadn’t come in?” he asked.

“Well,” she purred, picking up a strawberry from the dish in front of her and bringing it to Neal’s lips, “I’d have put this strawberry in that guy’s mouth, taken him up to my room, put a gun between his ribs, and told him to shut up and sit tight, or I’d arrest him for solicitation.”

Neal swallowed. “That’s really sexy.”

“Yeah.”

Diana played the role until she and Neal made it up to the penthouse suite, but as soon as the doors closed behind them, she was done—she was back to being on duty, and completely gay. They both looked around at their luxe accommodations for a moment before Neal flopped down on the couch and called room service. Diana shot him a look.

“What?” he shrugged, “I’m keeping up appearances. I’m supposed to be a big spender, remember?”

“Caffrey, this isn’t what we’re here for,” she said.

“Look, our cover is that we’re enjoying ourselves,” he said, “I’d say this is exactly what we’re here for.” She shot him another look. “What, so that’s a no to the champagne bath, then?”

“Caffrey…” she warned.

“Are you really gonna tell me you’re not even a _little bit_ hungry?” he said.

“Fine,” she sighed, “We can order _some_ food. But don’t push it.”

“Just a midnight snack,” he assured her, “And, you know, if we wanted to take advantage of some of the perks of the penthouse…” he said, looking over at the fluffy white hotel robes.

She gave in. How often did a federal agent get to enjoy this kind of luxury? She put on the robe and slippers and ordered a chocolate éclair from the room service menu.

“See?” Neal said, “This is nice.” They were wearing soft robes and lying on silk sheets after finishing their midnight snack from room service.

“Okay, you’re right,” she admitted, “It doesn’t hurt to relax a bit.”

As much as it pained her to admit it, she was actually having a lot of fun with Neal. He told her stories of the hotel rooms like this one he’d stayed in before he got caught. She told him stories of the hotel rooms like this one she’d stayed in as the daughter of a diplomat. She shared with him the secret about the hidden artwork behind hotel paintings, and they found an undisturbed painting to leave behind some art of their own. She told him about the month that Peter had a moustache. He talked about Kate, and she told him about Charlie. He blamed himself for Kate’s death—he would have taken her place on that plane if he could have—but Diana assured him that Kate and Charlie wouldn’t want them to hold on to guilt; they’d want them to move on with their lives and be happy. The time flew by as they waited for Peter to return with the cash. Diana jumped when she heard a key slide into the lock.

“Barrow has a key,” she said. She pushed Neal down onto the bed and kissed him. It wasn’t Barrow, just Mozzie with the cash.

“You know, I’d say ‘get a room,’ but…” Mozzie said. Diana and Neal looked up at him.

“What if he works for Barrow?” Neal whispered.

She smacked his shoulder and sat up. “I know who he is.”

“It was worth a try,” Neal shrugged. They went back downstairs, and Diana handed the money over to Barrow.

Emily was asleep when Diana got home. She changed out of her dress and took off her makeup before slipping into bed next to her girlfriend, draping an arm over her waist and snuggling up against her. Silk sheets be damned; _this_ was the most comfortable bed in the world. When she woke up, it was after 9 AM, and Emily’s side of the bed was empty. She rolled over and breathed in the scent of grapefruit shampoo on Emily’s pillow before getting out of bed. She picked up Sergio off her dresser and headed into the living room.

“Morning, beautiful!” Emily said cheerily, “I made you breakfast.”

“Aw,” Diana laughed, “You really didn’t have to do that, babe.”

Emily put a hand on her hip. “If that was a thank you, I’ll take it; if it was a subtle dig at my cooking skills, I resent it.”

“Thank you,” Diana said. She put the cat down and walked over to Emily to kiss her. “It looks delicious.”

Emily shrugged. “It looks edible. So you made it out of your meeting okay? All the horny men kept their hands to themselves?”

“All except Caffrey,” Diana nodded, “I had to flirt with him to keep my cover.”

“Oh, you poor thing!” Emily teased, resting a hand on Diana’s cheek.

“Nah, it could’ve been a lot worse,” Diana said, “And it was fun going undercover. A lot more exciting than my old job.”

“Well, I’m glad,” Emily said, “You deserve a little excitement. Just…maybe not _too_ much excitement? That whole rule about not dying—it goes for you, too.”

“Of course,” Diana chuckled. She leaned in to give Emily a quick kiss before taking the breakfast dishes to the dining table.

Sure, the hotel last night was pretty nice, but nothing could beat mornings like this with Emily. Diana had enjoyed the penthouse suite and the hotel robe and slippers and the room service, but a little apartment in Chelsea, a cat warming her feet, and Emily’s mediocre cooking? _That_ was heaven on earth. _That_ was all the luxury she ever needed, and she felt like the luckiest woman alive.


	13. Chapter 13

The investigation into Garrett Fowler was still Peter and Diana’s little secret. She’d finally let Emily in on a few of the details when she had to call Garcia again to do some digging, but only four people knew, and they were still keeping Neal in the dark. To tell the truth, Diana kind of enjoyed being the one that Peter trusted most, even if it meant late nights and secret meetings and some pretty strange assignments. She was happy to do whatever Peter needed her to—usually. Peter had learned that Neal managed to get his hands on the recording data from Kate’s plane, which meant he and Mozzie were looking into Fowler, too. Of course he knew _why_ Neal would do that, but he didn’t trust those two to keep their investigation on the straight and narrow. They’d need some supervision. They’d need Diana. He called her into his office at the end of the day.

“The rest of the team’s going to be working on the Wesley Kent case, but I need you to do something else for me,” he told her.

“Sure thing, boss,” she nodded.

“Neal has the recording data from Kate’s plane. He’s looking into Fowler,” Peter said, “I know I can’t stop him, but we can make sure he does things the right way.”

“If you can’t beat him, join him,” Diana deadpanned.

“That’s exactly what you’re gonna do,” Peter said.

“Alright,” Diana sighed, “I can babysit Caffrey while you’re undercover.”

Peter grimaced. “Not just Caffrey…”

“You want me to play nice with the little guy?” she scoffed.

“Oh, no, you don’t have to be _nice_ to him,” Peter said, “Just keep an eye on him; find out what he knows.”

Diana smiled. “I can do that.”

Getting Diana on board was the easy part; getting Mozzie on board would be much harder. Peter was about to go undercover at Novice and was getting ready to become Peter Lassen when he confronted Neal about the package from the FAA and Kate’s plane.

“Neal, if you’re working on this, so am I,” Peter said.

“I’m not working on anything,” Neal replied.

“Which means Mozzie’s working on it,” Peter said, “I want somebody from my team involved.”

“Peter, he is not—”

“No protests,” Peter interjected, “We are working on this together.”

Neal sighed. “Alright, who did you have in mind?”

“Diana.”

“What? She’ll eat him alive!” Neal protested.

“Well, he’s not much of a meal,” Peter deadpanned, “I want you to arrange a meeting.”

While Peter began his audit of Kent’s company, Neal dragged Mozzie kicking and screaming to meet with Diana. He got Mozzie as close to the FBI building as he was willing to go, and Diana met them on the street corner. They were late, and she didn’t like to be kept waiting. It didn’t take long for Diana and Mozzie to start bickering.

“We all want the same thing,” Neal said, “Now, if we can come together—together being the key word—we can move forward.”

“Look, if I’m gonna spend my time working with Lady Suit, it better be worth it,” Mozzie whined.

“And if I’m gonna spend my precious time supervising your pocket-sized pal, he better watch what he says,” Diana shot back.

“Why are you even here?” Mozzie asked defensively.

“Because my boss asked me,” she replied, “You?”

“Uh, because Neal asked me,” he retorted.

“So Neal’s your boss?” she teased.

“Hey, I answer to no one, Nancy Drew,” he scoffed. He turned to Neal. “I already have one Fed in my life.”

“And I’ve got plenty of crooks,” she added.

“Hey, hey, we need to find Fowler,” Neal interjected, “We know Kate tried to contact him after Peter showed up at the hangar. He’s the only one who can tell us what really happened. Please.”

“Fine,” Mozzie relented, “But I have rules.”

“You have rules?” Diana asked.

“You will meet me with all the pertinent files at a time and place of my choosing,” he said, “I will contact you via express courier. You will receive a package. In that package will be a sonnet giving you clues to our rendezvous point…”

“You want to send me a sonnet?” she said.

“Yeah,” he nodded.

“I don’t do scavenger hunts,” she said, “Or poems.”

Neal’s phone rang. “This is Jones,” he said.

“Go,” Diana told him, “I can handle this.”

“I don’t get handled!” Mozzie protested.

“Guys,” Neal urged, “Please, be adults.”

“We’re going to meet tomorrow morning,” Diana said to Mozzie, “At my office. No scavenger hunts, no sonnets, no bullshit. Got it?”

“A federal government building?!” Mozzie protested, “Not a chance. I went there once, and never again, Lady Suit.”

Diana put her hands on her hips. “Well, we could always meet at your place.”

Mozzie balked. The only thing worse than going to the Suits was the Suits coming to him.

“Counteroffer: We meet at Neal’s, and I won’t make you use the codeword,” he said.

“Deal.”

Diana went home to Emily, who always loved hearing stories of her White Collar escapades. She snuggled up on the couch with an arm wrapped around Emily as she lazily raked her fingers through dark, silky hair and began describing Mozzie to her very amused girlfriend.

“This is a real person?” Emily said in disbelief, “You’re not just fucking with me right now?”

“Oh, he’s very real,” Diana assured her.

“Mozzie…” Emily pondered, “He even _sounds_ like a grifter.”

“I know!” Diana laughed, “It’s almost cliché. No last name, either—just Mozzie. Which, of course, is definitely not his real name.”

“You know, if you wanted to find out his real name…” Emily began.

Diana shook her head. “I’m good with ‘Mozzie.’ The less I know about him, the better.”

Emily chuckled and nuzzled her head against Diana’s shoulder. “You have a weird job, babe.”

That was an understatement. But then, they both had pretty weird jobs, and that’s why they worked so well. Diana rubbed elbows with everyone from the crème de la crème to the seedy underbelly of New York society while Emily got inside the minds of murderers and psychopaths. For most couples, just one of their jobs would put a strain on the relationship. For them, it was just another day at the office. They weren’t most couples. They could do their jobs and work their long hours and then come home and be fully present with each other. They could spend their days digging into the lives of murder victims and corrupt OPR agents, and as soon as they saw each other, they weren’t Agent Prentiss and Agent Barrigan; they were just Emily and Diana. They could snuggle up on the couch to watch TV at the end of the day and then move into the bedroom to have amazing sex and fall asleep in each other’s arms, and then they could wake up the next morning and do it all over again.

Diana went over to Neal’s apartment the next morning with her files on the Fowler investigation. June let her in, and she looked around in wonder. How the hell did Caffrey manage to swing this place? That was a dumb question; he was _Neal._ She knew by now not to question the charmed life he seemed to live. She and Mozzie set up at the dining table to go over what they had. Mozzie pulled out a laptop, and then a collection of cleaning cloths and cotton swabs.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“You can never be too careful with these things,” he muttered.

“It’s _your_ laptop,” she pointed out. 

“Exactly.” Mozzie carefully wiped down every inch of the laptop. Twice, just to be safe.

“Are you ready?” she huffed.

“I have a process,” he retorted, “I didn’t even get to write my sonnet yet.”

“You have OCD,” she muttered.

“Uh, some might call it highly attentive,” he replied, “Okay, I did a full background check on Fowler. There’s been no hits on his credit cards, bank accounts, or passport. I’ve showed you mine; now you show me yours.”

Diana looked up at him and scowled. “Don’t ever say that again.”

“Understood,” he said.

She pulled out her file. “This is all that we have on him.”

“This is just Fowler’s resignation from the Bureau,” he said.

“Yeah, as of five weeks ago,” she said, “OPR booted him, swept the whole thing under the rug.”

There was a knock on the door, and June came in.

“I hope I’m not interrupting,” she said.

“Oh, no, not at all,” Mozzie said, “You are but a welcome and striking reprieve from the bureaucratic oppression in my midst.”

June chuckled. “Isn’t he charming?” she said to Diana.

“He has a way with words…” Diana replied.

“Yes, he does,” June said, “I wanted to speak to you for a moment. Peter gave me some forms regarding Neal’s housing arrangements, and I’m not sure that I understand them.”

“Oh, yeah, sure,” Diana said, standing and taking the forms from June.

She turned her back on Mozzie to talk through the forms with June, giving Mozzie the chance to rifle through her briefcase. After June left she checked her watch and packed up her files.

“Okay, I’ve gotta go,” she said, “I’m meeting my girlfriend for lunch in 20 minutes. I need copies of every statement you have.”

“Oh, of course,” Mozzie said with a strained smile, “I’ll email them to you.”

She knew he wouldn’t. Did Mozzie even _use_ email? She half expected him to send her the statements by carrier pigeon; apparently he had one. Emily was waiting for her at their favorite sandwich place and greeted her with a kiss on the cheek. This was part of their routine, the weekly lunch date. It started out as just something they did from time to time, but it had become a favorite ritual of theirs, a chance to escape the workday and find time for joy. They both had it on their calendars, and it was the one meeting they would never dare cancel, no matter how busy they got. Usually they avoided talking about work, but Emily was too intrigued by Mozzie to resist.

“He sounds insane,” Emily said after Diana relayed the details of her meeting with Mozzie.

“Insane doesn’t begin to cover it,” Diana replied, “Did I mention he wanted to write me a sonnet?”

“ _I_ don’t even write you sonnets,” Emily said.

“I know, and I love that about you,” Diana laughed.

Emily was used to FBI work that involved so much pain and grief and trauma and shock and gore…Diana’s world was different. The crimes were serious and the victims no less injured, but the glitz and glamor and the eccentric cast of characters in the White Collar Crimes Division were so far removed from the unsubs of the BAU that it was sometimes hard to believe they worked for the same agency. Sometimes it was nice to be reminded that the job didn’t always have to be so grim.

After the investigation into Wesley Kent’s company wrapped up, Peter called Diana into his office again.

“Neal knows you have the music box,” he said.

“What?!” Diana said, “How—Mozzie…”

“He saw the sheet music in your briefcase,” Peter nodded.

“Oh, that little snoop…” she groaned.

“It’s okay,” Peter said, “It’s good, actually. Now that he knows, we can move forward on this. We can work _with_ Neal. He understands we’ve got to do this the right way, and I think we need to trust him on that.”

“Are you sure?” Diana asked.

Peter nodded. “It’s time.”


End file.
